


ocean's gay-t

by atlantisairlock



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 65,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14966327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlantisairlock/pseuds/atlantisairlock
Summary: basically fifty unconnected nsfw porn with some plot fics featuring all the ocean's 8 ladies in various configurations. will eventually feature literally all of them, because let's be real, they're all gay as fuck.ships in titles. tags in chapter summaries. now complete!





	1. constance x lou - hands

**Author's Note:**

> requests are now **closed**. thank you everyone for all the support  & love! but i won't be continuing this series despite popular demand - i've been spending a lot of time on it & i want to work on other ocean's 8 gen fics before school starts up again for me. so rest assured that not continuing this fic means better things are coming! 
> 
> see [here](http://siewmai.tumblr.com/private/175579367905/tumblr_pbemd8s2uP1v40yi9) for an easily navigable content page for all the chapters in this fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: backstory, first meetings, resolved sexual tension, fingering, oral fixation, implied threesome, implied debbie x lou x constance

 

> _She’s got the best hands I’ve ever seen._

 

 

Constance’s very first impression of Lou is _hot,_ and she’s not apologising for it, because that is exactly what Lou is. She walks right up to Constance when she’s counting her takings for the day - six watches, three wallets, and one real nice pair of cufflinks - and interrupts her mental calculations about how much she can get for all this shit. Just straight-up short-circuits her mind with her blonde hair and leather jacket and the helmet tucked under her arm, and holy shit. As if absent of all good sense whatsoever, her jaw drops. “Damn.” 

And Lou - Lou fucking laughs, this low and husky sound and oh, yeah, Constance is _so_ ready to do whatever this babe wants to get in her pants. “I saw you out there,” she says, grinning. “Three-card monte _and_ you took his wallet? Harsh.” 

“It’s a hustle, sweetheart,” she replies, winking, and is rewarded with Lou throwing her head back and laughing, a real laugh. Her eyes are sparkling and she regards Constance with respect, which, honestly, feels even better than lust. “Name’s Lou. I have a hustle that might interest you.”

“Yeah?” Constance asks, and Lou’s grin gets wider. “Oh, yeah.”

She doesn’t even need to think about it, just puts her hand out for Lou to shake (and sure, she steals Lou’s watch along with it, but when she gives it back an hour later, it only seems to impress her). “Constance. Looking forward to hearing it.” 

 

 

That’s what brings her into her first con with Lou, and her first share of five grand. She’s good at what she does, but she’s never gotten five grand within a week and the rush is incredible. When Lou passes her the stack of cash, Constance lingers on the grip. “Hey, you ever need another job done, I’m your girl.”

And if she layers a bit of suggestion into the words, well, who can blame her? She lets her gaze lock onto Lou’s eyes, and then drop little by little, to her lips, her throat, further. Lou follows it, licks her lips, and stands. “You know, I might need a little help with something.” 

Being around Lou just makes Constance want to _dare,_ want to push, want to test the limits, and god, it feels so good. It feels good to smile, slow and sly, to walk closer and trace two fingers down the curve of Lou’s arm. “Would it happen to be in the bedroom?” 

“That’s what I like about you,” Lou says, grabbing her waist and pulling her close, chest to chest. “You’re just so quick on the uptake.” 

 

 

She ends up on her knees in Lou’s bed, thighs bracketing Lou’s hips, her tongue in Lou’s mouth. She’s had her hands on Lou’s wrist and in her pockets with the sole intention of filching her shit, but it feels a thousand times better to have them on her skin, mapping her fingers out against the expanse of Lou’s stomach, bringing one hand between her legs and sliding her thumb against Lou’s clit. 

Lou straight-up keens when Constance enters her, two fingers, twisting just a little, curling up to stroke that sweet spot inside her. She arches up against Constance’s hand, pupils blown, and the way she sounds when she begs - god, Constance wants that on a tape, for her to play over and over again. Lou doesn’t really talk a lot in bed - doesn’t talk so much as babble this incoherent stream of needy syllables, and it’s such stark contrast to how polished and controlled she is on a job - it’s the hottest thing Constance has ever seen. 

Then her other hand drifts to Lou’s breasts, her throat, and Lou moves forward, just this quick little movement, so fast, so oddly graceful, and takes Constance’s fingers into her mouth. Sucks on them, her tongue doing this thing that leaves Constance gasping even though she isn’t even being touched, and scratch that, _this_ is without a doubt _the_ hottest thing she’s ever seen and she thinks she will probably ever see. 

She’s got the best hands in the business, but she learns pretty quickly than Lou’s got the best mouth and loves to use it. It’s a great lesson, watching Lou get her off twice with four fingers inside her. Watching, from where she is on the bed, flat on her back and feeling the warm, fucked-out glow, watching as Lou slides her fingers out and then puts them right back into her mouth, never breaking Constance’s gaze.

She’s a real skeptic about this whole coming untouched thing, but _Jesus,_ if there was ever a day when she was swayed, that’s the one. 

 

 

After, Lou does call her back on more jobs. They don’t always fuck after said jobs are completed, but most of the time, she ends up in Lou’s bedroom when they’re done. It’s something to look forward to. 

Four years after she first meets Lou, she finishes up yet another game of three-card monte and steals a watch and then looks up to see Lou standing in front of her, beside a gorgeous brunette who’s watching her and looking impressed. 

“Hey, Constance,” Lou says, easy smile and all. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

“I’m Debbie,” the brunette says, extending a hand. “We have an offer to make.” 

And it’s professional, and Constance knows it, and her blood is already running hot at the thought of yet another con, but she doesn’t miss the way Debbie’s eyes roam either, so reminiscent of another first meeting four years ago. Doesn’t miss the heat in Debbie’s eyes and the way she wets her lips.

Constance grins. “I’m interested.” 


	2. debbie x lou x nine ball - sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: threesome, canon compliant, future fic, near future, oral sex, slight dom/sub, dom debbie, sub lou (why are you booing me? i'm right)

She meets Lou first. Lou’s the one who finds her and brings her on board and trusts her, and she’s also, pretty predictably, the first one to start looking. She isn’t shy about it, either - Lou isn’t shy about shit, and Nine Ball knows it. She notices the way Lou’s gaze drifts down her entire body and back up again, notices the way she looks at her lips when she talks, or smokes, notices the way Lou _watches._

And, okay, all cards on the table, no bullshit? She absolutely wants it too. You could be the most obstinately straight girl on the planet and there is still no way you could look at Lou and not appreciate how smoking she is. Just give her the word, and Nine Ball would be on Lou in under a second, just pushing her up against a wall and getting her tongue down her throat, and that is nothing but the god-honest truth. 

The only problem here being that Nine Ball is a lot of things but she sure as hell isn’t stupid. The moment Debbie first walks into the room bitching about the F train, she already knows. She wants Lou and Lou might look, but that shit is off-limits because Lou is Debbie’s girl, through and through. There’s a whole-ass history with a capital H there she doesn’t even want to begin to think about, that ties them together, and Nine Ball’s not going to fuck with that, not even for a lay as hot as Lou is. 

Doesn’t stop her from looking, or from wanting. And doesn’t seem to stop Lou from doing the same.

 

 

The whole heist just - well, pretty much reinforces the whole Debbie-and-Lou thing. They’re so obviously practically married and they fucking act like it, down to the fights and petty disagreements, and Nine Ball has _long_ put that shit out of her head. 

Until a week after everything gets settled and they’re past the light at the end of the tunnel and back on the metaphorical open road, and the other girls are figuring out where they want to go next. Nine Ball’s in the living room searching for a good location to open a snooker place and Lou drops her ass next to her - weird, but welcome - and then Debbie does the same on her other side and all of her alerts are up, because, um, what?

“Snooker place, huh?” Debbie says, and okay, wait a second, all the hairs on Nine Ball’s neck are standing up because that’s her Lou Voice. That’s the voice that all of them recognise to be fair warning to get the hell out of the house for the night if they don’t want to spend three hours hearing moans and thuds and headboards getting destroyed. It’s the Lou Voice, so why the hell is Debbie using it on her?

“Didn’t think you were going to run off so fast,” Lou continues, and oh shit, oh shit, is what she thinks is happening actually happening? She doesn’t panic - she’s a baller, she never panics, but this is coming really fucking close. 

Debbie’s talking again, moving in closer, inch by inch, and Nine Ball can feel her breath on her neck. “You can’t leave just yet, you know. Kinda want to talk to you about how you’ve been looking at Lou.”

Okay, Nine Ball is either going to end up in a bedroom under two smoking hot women or she is going to end up in the ocean under a slab of concrete and right now it is beginning to look like the latter. She is _this_ close to slamming her laptop into Debbie’s face and making a run for it when Debbie laughs, easy and relaxed. “Guess you haven’t noticed that I’ve been looking too.”

Oh, shit. 

Lou’s eyes are half-lidded and her smile is real, and Debbie’s grin is widening lazily and her gaze is hungry, and suddenly, it looks like option one is a pretty sure thing.

 

 

The first thing she figures out is that Lou lives for being on her knees and Debbie lives for being the one to make her get down on them. Lou licks her open with Debbie’s back against the wall and Nine Ball’s eyes nearly roll back into her head the moment she sees that. She actually has to sit the fuck down on Debbie’s bed so she doesn’t collapse. When Debbie winds her fingers through Lou’s hair and tugs, gently pushes her in the direction where Nine Ball’s sitting on the bed staring, she actually whimpers, no joke, and she isn’t even embarrassed about it, because _holy fucking shit._

“You wanna eat her out?” Debbie asks, rough and low and a little commanding, and Lou makes this _sound_ that has Nine Ball pressing the heel of her hand against her clit and trying not to fucking come right then and there. “Just like we talked about. Make her come with that gorgeous mouth.” 

Yup, alright, Nine Ball thinks she might have died sometime during the heist and is now in heaven, because _did they fucking talk about fucking her while they were fucking each other?_ She doesn’t think she’s ever been this turned on in her life, and honestly, can anyone fucking blame her when Lou finally, god, _finally_ puts her mouth on her and Nine Ball literally sprawls back onto the bed and comes in two minutes like a goddamn teenager. She’s barely been touched and she already feels like her brains have been fucked out, but then Lou lifts her head and smiles, her mouth wet and shining, and Debbie pulls her up to kiss her. 

“Okay, you two really don’t play fair,” Nine Ball says, her voice sounding far weaker than she wants it to. She got into this thinking she was going to be showing them a thing or two and instead she’s on her back now literally with her shirt still on, which is bullshit. 

But Lou is laughing, lush and rich, and Debbie is falling onto the bed next to her, pressing her mouth to Nine Ball’s and her hand sliding slowly up her leg. “You really want us to?”

“Oh _hell_ no,” Nine Ball says, and pulls Lou in to taste her. 


	3. debbie x tammy - jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **tomorrownevercame** \- 'omg PLEASE do debbie/tammy, the tension between those two in the garage scene was unbearable'. facts only. 
> 
> tags: jealous!tammy, misunderstandings, resolved sexual tension, reminiscing, semi-public sex, car sex, making out, fisting, oral sex mention, penetrative sex mention

They need a fence. They need a fence, and to be honest, Debbie already knows who they're probably going to end up with even before Lou starts listing, and she tries not to think too hard about it. 

But then Lou says  _what about Tammy,_ and shit, Debbie's fucked all over again. 

 

 

There's a reason why she doesn't bring Lou on this one. Lou is perfectly cool with Tammy, no bad blood whatsoever, respects her skills. Tammy respects her too. Likes her? Maybe not so much. That's mostly Debbie's fault. She gets that. She was younger and she thought she could fuck around and play with people's feelings and still come out on top. She was wrong, and she hurt people she cared about -  _cares_ about - and there were bad moments in prison where she wondered if this was her karma. 

She's been in this garage before.

She doesn't expect Tammy to pick up her call. It's a god-ordained miracle that she agrees to come out to meet her at all, and that seems like a good sign, but then Tammy walks into the garage and she looks incandescently furious and welp, maybe not. 

"What the fuck are you doing in my house," Tammy says, folding her arms over her chest. "I thought I told you I was out of this life." 

Debbie bites back a teasing joke about all the shit that she's  _literally_ surrounded by in the garage right now, because they ended things on such a bad note and it definitely wouldn't be taken in the spirit it's meant to be. "Hey, Tammy. How's it been? Good to see you too. It's nice to feel the sun on my skin after five long years."

"Don't play the fucking prison card with me, Ocean. You nearly landed me in jail once too, you know it doesn't work on me." 

Which is true, okay, she was younger then too, and she was still growing into what it  _meant_ to be an Ocean. She fucked up and Tammy nearly got slapped with ten years and they only made it out because Debbie went to her parents with her metaphorical tail between her legs and begged for their help. She's apologised for it a hundred times and she knows it'll still never be enough. She sighs, wondering if Lou'll kill her if she goes back to headquarters without their fence. "Okay, business it is. Listen, Lou and I - "

Tammy's lips flatten into a straight line and her eyes flash, and Debbie instantly knows it was the wrong thing to start with. "Oh, right, you and Lou, as usual. What is this about, Debbie? Do tell. Do you need me to take the rap for your girlfriend again? Do you want me to play second fiddle and stick out my neck so you can take her to bed every night and fuck in peace? Do you - "

"What?" Debbie interrupts before this can go any further.  _"What?_ Tammy - Jesus, no, that's not - is this what this is about?"

"Of course this is what it's about," Tammy hisses. "This has  _always_ been about me being your second choice, for years, from the time we met up until Claude Becker framed you and you went to jail for five years! This is about you in a club bathroom fucking Lou against a wall while I was out there trying to fend off advances from some meth-head, and you taking Lou home after that job at the bank in Orange County, it's always been about shit like this!"

And Debbie just stands there staring because... what? Suddenly everything is falling into place, and shit, she was messing around back then with Lou  _and_ Tammy and it was because neither of them were taking it seriously, or so she thought, and Lou was  _never_ taking it seriously but she never thought - oh shit, Tammy did, Tammy still does, has spent years and years thinking she wasn't ever Debbie's choice when she's all Debbie's ever actually wanted, and the misunderstandings have had years to fester, and Tammy is  _jealous,_ has been for so long, and shit, she's such an idiot. 

"I remember the club," Debbie says, quietly. "I remember holding Lou's hair back while she was throwing up because she drank too much. I thought you were just outside waiting for us. I didn't realise, I'm sorry. And I remember the bank too. I remember freaking out because something went wrong when Lou was escaping off the roof and she fell wrong and she didn't want to go to the hospital even though she was bleeding all over herself. I'm sorry I left you, and I'm sorry I never saw enough, but Tammy, I swear I never slept with Lou. I never even kissed  _her._ There was only one person that I was sleeping with then and it was you." 

And that's it, all her cards on the table, and Debbie just stands there, waiting, aching, wondering if this is enough to - not to be forgiven, definitely not, but at least get her on board to rob the Met. The wondering is abruptly cut off when Tammy takes three strides over, shoves her against a wall of cardboard boxes and kisses her. 

"You've got a lot to make up for, Debbie Ocean," she says, the words petering off into a moan when Debbie brings her mouth to Tammy's neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, her hands roaming. It's almost like muscle memory, the way it's been years but her hands instinctively know how to slide under her blouse and unclip her bra, how to unzip her jeans. She's already got one hand past the waistband when Tammy shoves one hand against her chest, trying to catch her breath. "Not here."

"Oh, baby, we used to do it all the time in here," Debbie  _just_ manages to rasp, and it's a fucking effort, voice thick with arousal and the need to just  _fuck_ her, but Tammy pushes a little harder, a little sterner. "The kids are in the house." 

Okay, that's fair. She sighs. "Where do you want to go instead?"

 

 

This is fine, this is good, she's been in this car before too. She's been in the backseat of this car as Tammy drove it into some secluded corner of the neighbourhood and they fucked for hours. The area has changed but there's still darker corners where people don't look, and Tammy absolutely lied when she said she was 'getting out of that life' because she's still got the blackout curtains up. 

"I don't think we've ever done it in the driver's seat," Tammy says conversationally, like Debbie isn't seated on her lap and shaking through her orgasm with Tammy's entire fucking hand inside her. She wants to laugh but she thinks it might come out more as a trembling sigh. "We definitely did shit in this seat," she manages to whisper. "Unless you forgot the time we were going down the 93 and I was under the dash with my tongue inside you."

Tammy acknowledges it with a tilt of her head. "But never like this."

"No, shockingly at nineteen I wasn't really ready for my girlfriend to fist me," Debbie says, and is rewarded by Tammy going still, and the moment is suddenly - not really  _broken,_ but there's more weight to it now. "Girlfriend."

"Of course girlfriend. Jesus." 

"I think we're both a little too old for this 'girlfriend' thing now," says Tammy, but she's smiling and sliding her hand out slow, and Debbie doesn't answer for a bit because she's a little busy with Tammy's fingers in her mouth, but honestly, looking at Tammy, being here with her, it makes her feel like she could never possibly be too old for anything. She's coming down from her high and haze with her gaze fixed on the backseat, and hey, two can play at this game. Without looking Tammy in the eye, she speaks, thoughtful. "Remember prom night, right after we got the hell out of that awful dinner and I was on top of you right there with one hand between your legs and you came with my mouth on your tits?" 

Tammy's eyes go dark, and Debbie thinks she's going to win this round, but then - "Not really, that was a long time ago. You know what I do remember? The night we first successfully robbed a truck off the highway and you rode my cock until you literally cried." 

"Oh my god," Debbie groans, closing her eyes. "Don't fucking tell me you still have that strap-on in this car, that's just - "

"No, I don't," Tammy laughs, but it goes lower, darker. "But I've stocked up on a lot more fun stuff in the time since then." 

"Yeah?" Debbie says, and she can already feel herself wet and slick again. "Why don't you show me?" 

"Oh, honey," says Tammy. "It would be my pleasure." 


	4. daphne x rose - silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **meganmullallys** \- 'can you please do rose/daphne! your writing is so goooood i’m LIVING'
> 
> tags: resolved sexual tension, semi-public sex, slight dom/sub, dom rose, sub daphne, light bondage, oral sex, fantasies, fantasy group sex, daphne is horny & gay as fuck

"You use a lot of silk in your new collection," Daphne says. 

She's in Rose's flagship store after hours, because they were filming two streets over and wrapped early after everyone shockingly managed to get their shit together and get everything they needed before they went over time for  _once._ So she thought, why not bring Rose dinner, right, there's an amazing kebab place en route and she knows Rose is working, like, twenty-three hours every day to get shit ready in time. She's trying to figure out how to be a Good Friend - it was hard going at the start because she hasn't actually had a lot of real friends in the past five years so there really wasn't any inspiration she could draw from. But she's working it out. Slowly. And she's come to realise that doing stuff like this - popping in unexpectedly and bringing food - is a love language that everyone on the team speaks. Seriously. They eat like garbage disposals, every single one of them. One time they went out to a fancy restaurant and Daphne ordered one salad and that was it for the night and Debbie asked if she was on a diet while she was tucking into her second appetiser. Jesus Christ.

But she digresses. Love language, food, friendship, she gets it. She walks into the store like she belongs there, puts the kebab in front of Rose and they eat together in the back room - Daphne giving the kebab the attention it deserves, Rose not so much as she has it gripped tight in one hand and the other still sketching. Daphne's been looking around at all the dresses on the rack, waiting to be worn, and when she finally finishes her food and cleans her hands, she mentions it to Rose. 

"Yes, silk," Rose says distractedly. "All the rage now. Penelope Stern is a big fan - silk and tulle in everything."

Daphne makes a disgusted noise that sounds somewhat like  _ugh, Penelope_ if you listen close enough. She folds one leg over the other and props her chin up on her hand, staring at Rose. "Silk's nice. Light. Comfortable. Strong." She lingers on the last word, rolling it off her tongue, laden with innuendo. 

Why does she do it? Daphne's not even sure herself. She just knows that it's been a month since the heist ended, and she's been spending all her time with the girls, and having female friends is nice, but it's also awakening something else inside her, something she never really thought about. Something beyond friendship, because, well, seriously, everyone on the team is a babe, present company included. And she's bored, okay? Directing keeps her on her toes and everything, but she's got all the needs of a normal thirty-year-old woman and she's not going to lie, she's spent a lot of nights fantasising about being on the carpet in the living room and having seven people on top of her, all over her, and right now it's almost midnight, and she's alone with Rose in this quiet backroom, and nobody's around, and she can think of a lot of things to do with all the skeins of silk lying around and none of them have to do with fashion.

She thinks she might have to prod and nudge a bit, isn't sure how receptive Rose would be, how interested, plus - professionalism and all, and Daphne wasn't kidding about the twenty-three-hour work days. But then Rose lifts her head and there's this look in her eyes that pretty much changes her entire expression and she deliberately puts her pencil down. Electricity runs down the length of Daphne's spine, and she forces herself to stay still in her seat as Rose stands and walks in front of her, looking down at her. "Interested in textiles, are you?"

"I'm very interested in their uses," Daphne replies, lips curling up into a smile, the one she uses at the clubs when she's finding a sweet lay, and Rose smirks - an actual  _smirk,_ wow, she's ruining Daphne's underwear and probably doesn't even know it. "So am I."

"Lucky me," says Daphne. "Now tell me you have an even more secret back room in here."

 

 

Rose does not have an even more secret back room. What she does have is a mattress for the nights she has to spend in the shop to meet her quota, which is good enough for now. 

"It doesn't have a headboard," Rose says disapprovingly, and the images  _that_ brings up make Daphne want to moan. As it is, she just grins. "I'm sure you can make do." 

"I can," Rose agrees, then gives Daphne a light shove so she's on her knees on the mattress. "Hands behind your back."

 _"Fu-uck,"_ Daphne groans, and she would be mortified by how willing and how  _easy_ she is right now if she wasn't so fucking turned on. She has her back to Rose so all she can hear is the familiar gentle rustle of silk, and then suddenly Rose is sliding it in front of her eyes and tying it behind her head and  _then_ moving to her wrists, and yeah, Daphne is so gone. 

"You look lovely right now," Rose says, in the same voice she uses to inspect models and their features. "Pretty as a picture. Maybe I  _should_ take a picture, actually. Send it to the other girls. Have them come over. Let them do what they want with you, play you like a fiddle. You're going to eat me out now," she continues, not an order, just this statement of fact, and the conviction in it, the surety that Daphne will just do as she says, might actually be hotter than doing it. "And you're going to imagine how it would be like if the others were here too. Imagine it like... an assembly line. Making me come, and then moving to the next girl, and the next, and the next." 

Daphne does imagine it. Vividly. And whimpers like a fucking high schooler as Rose tangles her fingers in her hair and brings Daphne's head between her thighs. She's never done this before and she's not sure if it'll show, but she's pretty damn determined and also horny as fuck and she decides enthusiasm can make up for inexperience, at least for now, because she sure as hell doesn't intend to stay inexperienced for long. She seems to be doing okay, because Rose is tugging on her hair and moaning breathlessly and saying filthy things that make Daphne even wetter. Her entire body is tensed to spring, almost, and she's pretty sure all Rose would need to do right now is slide one finger inside her and she'd be coming so hard she wouldn't be able to breathe. 

"I could do anything I wanted with you right now, sweetheart." Rose's voice cuts through Daphne's haze of want, need, lust. "With your hands tied and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it. I think you'd like that." 

"Yeah," Daphne pants, and Rose hums thoughtfully. "I wonder if I could gag you and and keep that blindfold on, keep your wrists bound, and tease you. I wonder how long you'd last. Maybe you'd ruin the silk, with your mouth all over it." Rose shoves her shoulder, and Daphne falls back onto the bed, gasping for it. She's pretty sure she might actually be crying for it. There's a good minute while she just lies there, inhaling hard, trying to rub her thighs together to ease the burning between them, and she hears Rose laugh - low and sweet. "Well," she says. "I suppose there's a lot of silk to spare." 

"Oh god, yes," Daphne gasps, and lays back to fucking take it. 


	5. amita x nine ball - i can work with that

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: sexual tension, mild humour, first time (with a girl), strap-ons, penetrative sex, oral sex, implied marathon sex, background debbie x lou x tammy

One thing Amita learns pretty quickly about the girls is that they are deeply and completely unashamed of anything. Debbie will happily walk around the house for hours without pants on, and Rose has zero qualms about changing clothes in front of anybody, and it's not just about clothes or the lack of them, it's also about space. Constance will sprawl on the carpet by the radiator when it gets too cold and Lou will sink into the sofa when they're watching TV together and just put her legs on the lap of whoever's most convenient. It's something born out of comfort and trust, not entitlement, and it's something Amita wants badly. So the one night she comes home from the grocery run and Nine Ball beckons her over to where they're all circled around a Yankee candle on the carpet - seriously? Fire hazard, much - she goes. 

"What are we doing?" Amita asks, and Nine Ball grins, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Story time tonight. Right now we're sharing our best ever experience in bed."

"Metaphorically," Constance clarifies. "You know, 'cause the best sex I ever had was in a church, so." 

There's a brief, glorious silence, and then Debbie's tossing her head back and laughing. "You are just  _so_ interesting." 

"A church, seriously," Tammy says, and the others are calling for her to elaborate, and Constance delves into her story with relish. She tells it well, keeps them laughing and gasping and Nine Ball slams her hand on the ground and yells about how Constance is so full of shit but it's all good, the atmosphere is light, which kind of weighs on Amita's chest because this is - well, she's not used to it. It's different, but - in this really good way, and she feels warm, a little light-headed even before Nine Ball passes her a bottle of beer from the cooler, it feels nice. Really nice. 

Constance wraps up her story, talking about how she and her ex-girlfriend narrowly escaped being found by a chaplain, to riotous laughter, and the attention passes over to Lou beside her, who already has a wicked glint in her eye. "So, if I'm gonna tell this story, it's got to be with the consent of Debbie and Tammy."

"Oh  _shit,"_ Nine Ball shouts from beside Amita. Somehow or another she's ended up shoulder to shoulder with her and she can almost feel the low rumble of Nine Ball's voice with her cheek pressed against Nine Ball's. Her skin is really warm, and she smells nice. Amita reaches for the next bottle and lets herself just sink into the cozy glow of the room, of the night. Debbie is grinning and Tammy is laughing with one hand over her eyes, but they both look pleased and a little hungry and Lou leans in and starts talking. The story sounds five times sexier in that gorgeous accent of hers and the atmosphere isn't as light as with Constance - everyone listens intently and Amita can actually feel herself holding her breath as Lou recounts how she snuck into Debbie's bedroom on the eve of prom and how Tammy was staying over at Debbie's for some reason or another, and how it all went from there. 

It's pretty hot. Lou goes into detail and the atmosphere turns even tenser and the way Debbie and Tammy are looking at her, Amita's pretty sure there's going to be a repeat of that night when they all go to bed later. She can practically feel the heat in her own stomach, pooling, aching, and maybe it's just the alcohol, or how close she is to Nine Ball, but maybe - 

Lou closes off her story and passes the baton to Rose, and they try to keep it going, but by the time Rose is done it's pretty obvious that everyone's just - wound up, and they close the night early. Debbie, Lou and Tammy disappear off together, and Constance and Rose head back to their own rooms but with heat in their eyes, and then it's just her, and Nine Ball, who rolls a blunt and lights it, not making a move to get up. 

"Not going to bed?" Amita hazards, gesturing towards the retreating figures of the others, and Nine Ball laughs. It's a luxurious sound, and Amita kind of wants to wrap herself up in it. "They're not going to sleep." She turns her gaze to Amita, smiling lazily. "You didn't tell a story." 

Amita flushes. "Yeah, no, I - " Like, first of all, she's never had an experience really worth remembering let alone telling, and also - it's weird. Literally all the others talked about women, and she's only ever fucked guys. Boring straight cis guys who talk big game but never ever bring that to the bedroom, who seem to only know how to use their dicks and never their mouths or their fingers, who barely even know how to use said dicks for anything but their own satisfaction, who've never really left her feeling good about herself when she's done. 

Nine Ball watches her with that piercing gaze, the one that makes everyone feel like they're being searched. "You never fucked a girl?"

She doesn't reply, doesn't really think she needs to. Nine Ball's smile gets sharper, more predatory, and she puts the blunt down, exhaling a cloud of smoke away from Amita's face. "You want to?"

And - she's just - she hasn't really ever thought about it, not in detail or anything, but the night is warm and the atmosphere is still thick with something she can't name and Nine Ball is sitting in front of her, looking like  _she_ wants, and she's gorgeous, and she doesn't know about wanting to fuck a girl, but she definitely knows something about wanting to fuck Nine Ball, right here, right now. 

"I've only been with dudes," she says instead, and Nine Ball leans in, kisses the very edge of her mouth, brief and light, and whispers. "I can work with that."

 

 

Nine Ball having a strap-on in her room at headquarters, Amita isn't surprised by. Her saying she's wanted to use it on someone - specifically her - for ages, now that's a bit more  _wow._ She looks fucking hot with the harness on her hips, crawling onto the bed where Amita's lying on her back, and she can feel the weight of it between their bodies when Nine Ball moves in to kiss her, wet and sloppy but so good. 

"So let me guess," Nine Ball says, sitting up and tossing her hair back. "All the guys you ever banged only knew how to take off their pants, slide inside you and pound for five minutes before coming like boys?" 

Amita winces - she wouldn't put it as harshly as that, but pretty much. Nine Ball sighs, leaning in again to trace her tongue down Amita's throat, the valley between her breasts, to her navel. "Babe, you deserve so much better than that."

"Then show me," Amita says, keeping her voice steady. She feels Nine Ball laugh more than hears her, the sound muffled by her own skin as Nine Ball's mouth travels further down between her legs, and she does this thing with her tongue against Amita's clit and oh fuck, if she keeps that up, she's going to be dripping off the fucking ceiling. She could come just like this, wants to, but then Nine Ball lifts her head again, smiling with this hint of pride. "You're so wet for me. Just waiting for me to slide my cock inside you."

 _Fucking_ hell, Amita has to drop her head back against the pillows and breathe, although she doesn't get a lot of time for that before she hears the slick sound of Nine Ball's hand against the strap-on, lubing it up, and then she's got her hands pressed into the bed by Amita's head, positioned right above her. She doesn't say anything, just keeps their eyes locked while she reaches one hand between her legs, wrapping it around the base and sliding the length of it inside her. It's agonisingly slow and Amita thinks she keens the entire time until Nine Ball bottoms out and it's inside her, completely, stretching her and filling her so  _good._

"Yeah," Nine Ball says, voice shot through. "Feels so fucking good, right?" 

There is no fucking way in hell Amita can ever go back to hooking up with basic white guys in the club for a quick lay,  _ever_ again. Nine Ball is going to fucking ruin her forever, with the way she slides the strap-on out just the slightest, and then pounds back in, again and again, and she captures Amita's mouth with her own and she's fucking her into the bed and all of Amita's higher thinking processes are shorting out in favour of her entire brain just going  _more more more._

And then out of nowhere, when she's  _this close_ to coming so hard she could scream, Nine Ball stops and slides the strap-on back out, and Amita feels the loss as keenly as a wound. "Why did you - "

"Ride me," Nine Ball says, soft and light and mischievous, and okay, that is the best idea she's ever heard in her life up to and including stealing the Toussaint off Daphne Kluger's neck. Nine Ball falls back onto the bed, just laying there with her eyebrows raised and a grin, and Amita isn't ashamed to admit she nearly fucking falls  _off_ the bed in her scramble to straddle her and fuck herself back onto the toy and just rock against Nine Ball's hips, feeling it hit all the sweet spots inside her, and Nine Ball reaches one hand down to rub circles around her clit and Amita can feel it when she comes, when they both come, like she's floating or something, seeing stars, her entire body just going into overdrive for one perfect second. 

She fucks herself on the strap-on through the aftershocks of her orgasm, until her legs are trembling so much Nine Ball has to help her slide off it and back onto the bed, on top of the ruined sheets. 

"Fuck," Amita finally exhales, when she can catch her breath, because seriously, what else can she possibly say?

"Now you got something for our next story time, huh?" Nine Ball says, teasing. She's got one finger tracing down the line of Amita's collarbones. "Next round?" 

Amita's eyes flash open in disbelief. "Are you kidding? You've fucked my brains out, I fucking swear. I can't even move."

And Nine Ball just smirks, raising one eyebrow, and Amita groans, because this woman is going to  _ruin_ her. "Fifteen minutes. Get me some water if you're really going to keep going."

Nine Ball laughs out loud this time, easing her way off the bed and heading for the door. "Oh, babe," she says. "We're just getting started." 


	6. daphne x lou - breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **themoviegeekstrikesback** \- 'can you write one where lou and daphne get together? i feel like those two have compatible energies and daphne's not as much of the airhead that we think she is' + **lachtara** \- 'i’d love to see maybe a lou/daphne'. this one is for you, friends!
> 
> tags: not canon compliant, missing scene, canon divergence, hook-up, choking, fingering, implied bondage

So, scene - she's Daphne Kluger, literally the hottest thing on TV right now, standing by the bar at the Met Gala, which is The Most Exclusive Event in all of America, or so everyone says, and this is her sixth glass of champagne, and holy shit, is she bored. 

The night has not been going well, to say the least. First there was the entire thing about having her head down a toilet bowl, and then everyone flipped their shit about the Toussaint briefly disappearing, and her date is becoming more inappropriate the drunker he gets. He's a  _boring_ drunk to boot, so she can't even have a laugh at his expense, and if she's being really honest, making out with him by the exhibits wasn't that fun either. She's not sure how or why she ended up with Claude Becker as her date and seriously, the publicity she's getting for this entire thing? It's starting to feel not-so-worth-it, because ugh. 

She has one more hour to kill before they close for the night, and even the champagne is beginning to taste like shit. There's only so many glasses she can go through to stave off the sheer ennui and Daphne thinks she's pretty close to her limit. If she doesn't find something to do within the next ten minutes, she's going to drown herself in the exhibit moat. 

And then maybe there is a God, because not two minutes later, a drop-dead gorgeous blonde walks over in this dazzling blue pantsuit that shows off her figure (and what a figure), and gets a glass of scotch from the bartender. Daphne doesn't even pretend that she isn't looking, just watches her every move with undisguised interest. This woman is  _without_ a doubt the hottest thing that has walked through the doors tonight - apart from yours truly, obviously - and right now there is  _nothing_ Daphne wants more than to pull her into the bathroom and fuck her brains out, not that it's likely to happen what with the increased security after the events of one hour ago. 

But maybe after, Daphne thinks, toying with the diamonds around her neck. After all, she doesn't have anyone to go home to, right? She steps closer to the woman, watching in fascination as she lifts her glass to her lips and drinks her scotch. "Hi," Daphne says, putting all the sultry charm she can into the word. "I'm Daphne." No need for any other introduction, she decides, her name should be enough by far.

The woman turns to look at her, really look, and a small smile plays across her face. She looks amused, triumphant, a little mercenary, even. It's a good look on her. "Hello," she replies - ooh, Australian, wow. "Daphne Kluger?"

"The very same." Daphne beams at her, leaning closer. "And you are?"

The woman keeps regarding her with this  _look._ Like she's judging Daphne but in a very, very good way. She bites her bottom lip, casting a glance over Daphne's entire body, then seems to make up her mind about something. "I'm Lou," she says. "So nice to make your acquaintance."

 

 

To be really fucking honest, after that everything is just a hazy blur until Daphne arrives back at her apartment and finds herself pushed up against her front door with Lou's fingers already undoing her dress, her tongue pretty much halfway down Daphne's throat. She  _thinks_ they talked and flirted and she let her touch linger more than once and then she supposes she got the stupid fucking million dollar diamond necklace back in its box, whatever, and then the team let her off the fucking hook for the night and she invited Lou over and now they're here and Daphne really, really does not care how they got here when her hands are on Lou's waist and she's trying to figure out how to fucking unzip her and have her on her fucking bed. 

"You're wearing too many clothes," Lou says, warm breath against the shell of Daphne's ear, and Daphne laughs breathlessly. "Right back at you." 

"Mm-hmm," Lou agrees, and steps back, just a bit, reaches back and unzips her suit and does something clever about her bra and underwear and two seconds later, or so it fucking seems, she's standing right there in the middle of the hallway gloriously naked and looking so fucking good. Daphne's mouth goes dry just looking at her, and she can't even move as Lou helps her with her own dress, freeing her from the train and the straps and looking at her like she's dessert. Lou's hand drifts up to Daphne's neck, her palm resting against Daphne's chest and her fingers wrapping around her throat. "That necklace you were wearing," she murmurs. "It was very beautiful."

"Yeah, a hundred fifty million, whatever," Daphne says, a little taut, because seriously, is that what Lou wants to talk about now? But then the annoyance tamps down  _immediately_ when Lou's grip tightens, just a little bit, but enough to make Daphne's heart race faster and her whole body feel hotter. "It draws attention to your neck," Lou continues, her voice almost hypnotic. "And it certainly caught my eye."

She's moving her palm up to Daphne's throat now, pressing, pushing, harder and harder, and Daphne's pretty sure her field of vision is narrowing and it's getting harder to breathe but in the  _best_ way. She's gasping for breath and Lou looks like she's savouring the sound, swallows it down as she slides her mouth over Daphne's, kissing her insistently.

Just when Daphne feels like she's about to pass out, Lou takes her hand away. The sensation of suddenly being able to breathe again is genuinely close to orgasmic. Her knees nearly go weak, and she almost collapses into Lou's arms. She feels like she can't speak, can't even vocalise a sound, but she grabs Lou's wrist and pulls her towards the bedroom, and that's all she really needs to say. 

 

 

So that thing about being able to breathe again after being choked and it feeling orgasmic and whatnot? Turns out, as Daphne learns, that if she's  _actually_ on the verge of orgasm when Lou releases her grip, she comes so hard and so intensely that she sees stars for a good ten seconds after she comes down from the initial high. She ends up lying there unable to even  _move,_ just gulping for air as Lou keeps scissoring two fingers inside her. 

"Can you - do you only do that with your hands?" Daphne asks, when she finally gets some breath back into her lungs. She looks around her room just on this side of frantically, settling on one of her scarves hanging over the back of a chair. "Could you - with that?" 

Lou follows her gaze to the scarf, then shakes her head lightly, to Daphne's disappointment. "Too dangerous. Too many ways it could go wrong and you could really asphyxiate." She sees Daphne's pout and smiles, predatory. "But there are _other_ things I could do with it. Use it on your wrists, your ankles... in your mouth..."

"Show me," Daphne demands. Lou laughs, getting off the bed and reaching for it. "Alright," she says, pupils dilated and lips wet, and Daphne can't even help herself, just arches her back, bares her throat, offers herself up for the taking. "Lie back and close your eyes." 


	7. daphne x tammy - caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **marisa** \- 'maybe you could do one with daphne/tammy?' + **saphne** \- 'omg please do daphne and tammy i wanna see tammy use that strap to debauche hollywood's angel'. fun fact i wrote the fic before saphne's comment and was amazed by how closely it fits the request. enjoy! 
> 
> tags: established relationship, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, oral sex, fingering, strap-ons, penetrative sex, caught in the act, top tammy, bottom daphne

To be fair, Daphne reasons, nothing would have happened if the girls hadn’t all decided to go overseas all at once and happily leave the two of them alone in the house, so really, they only have themselves to blame. 

“It’s still a terrible idea,” Tammy says firmly, going through the accounts again and absent-mindedly batting her hand in Daphne’s face. “Babe, let me work, I have to settle this transaction by midnight or we’re all losing twenty grand each.” 

Which, okay, is somewhat of a big deal, but it’s also a freezing cold day and the house is empty and Daphne is horny as hell and right now, she could care less about being twenty grand out of thirty-eight million. The fact that Tammy isn’t turning away from her computer to jump Daphne’s bones is a far more pressing matter, and there’s no way she’s going to let this go without a fight. There is absolutely nothing she’s better at than whining. “It won’t take that long, and your genius brain will have lots of time to settle the accounts before midnight,” she wheedles. “Amita’s flight lands tomorrow morning and Constance flies in that afternoon and after they get back and the rest start trickling back in we won’t have the chance to do this again for ages.” 

Tammy sighs, but at least she turns away from the screen to face Daphne. “Couldn’t we at least keep it to our bedroom?”

“But it’ll be so fun,” Daphne says, her voice dropping three tones. “Don’t you get bored always doing it on our bed? Don’t you want to sit on the dining table and have me on my knees and pull my hair and - "

Tammy interrupts her with a searing kiss, and Daphne knows she’s won. “Just one round,” she warns, even though they both know that’s definitely not going to happen. 

 

 

She does end up on her knees with her face buried between Tammy’s legs, complete with the requisite hair-pulling, but one round turns to two and then three, because once they start they both get fucking insatiable. Daphne gets two orgasms out of Tammy with her fingers alone and then ends up getting herself off while watching Tammy lick her own taste off said fingers. 

“You should fuck me on the table,” Daphne says, her voice raspy from use. “With the strap-on. Make me come and then have me suck your cock.”

“You are a menace,” Tammy says, but it’s halfway to a groan and she’s already darting into their bedroom, to the toybox, and Daphne lets herself lean against the curve of the table and recover some strength while Tammy fixes up the straps of the harness. She lays Daphne out on the table, hands gentle but firm, spreads her knees and presses the head of the strap-on against Daphne’s cunt, eases in.

“Oh fuck, _faster,”_ Daphne groans, canting her hips, trying to take more of it inside her, because her skin is crawling and her entire body is alight and she needs it hard and rough and she needs to be able to feel this for days. “Babe, harder, fuck, please, yes.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and cries out as Tammy drives it into her, the slapping sound of flesh meeting obscenely loud in the empty house. Daphne scrabbles for purchase against the ungiving surface of the table, nails scratching against marble as she gasps, keens, comes. 

Tammy doesn’t even seem fazed watching Daphne shudder out what might be her fourth orgasm, not that she’s got the brainpower right now to keep count. “What was that you were saying about sucking my cock?” She just says it, so calm and collected, which is really fucking unfair because Daphne’s a goddamn mess right now and it’s seriously not acceptable that Tammy can apparently still string coherent sentences together. She decides to fucking change this state of things by easing off the table, sliding to her knees again, and taking the strap-on in her mouth, swallowing it down so her lips encircle the base. She doesn’t break eye contact with Tammy while she does it, and feels pretty satisfied to see her pupils dilate until they’re almost pure black. 

“You look so good like that,” Tammy murmurs, carding her fingers through Daphne’s long hair and getting a good grip. Daphne relaxes her throat, breathes slow and lets Tammy control the pace, the movement, facefucking her brutally like she doesn’t give a fuck. It’s fucking perfect and Daphne loves it, loves this, loves her so much. She’s so overstimulated and buzzing from it but with Tammy’s voice guiding her, telling her to fuck herself on her hand one last time, she comes feeling so full and it’s amazing. 

The comedown is slow, and warm, and Daphne is dizzy with it, letting Tammy hoist her back onto the table so she’s sitting up and leaning against her shoulder and sighing, catching her breath and happily revelling in the afterglow. 

“Damn, you two nasty,” Constance says, out of literal fucking nowhere, and Daphne yelps and falls off the table. Tammy screams and jumps back and nearly puts her foot through the sliding door. 

“What the fuck, Constance!” Daphne yells, scrambling out of Constance’s line of sight from where she’s peering around the door to the game room. “I thought you were in Guangxi visiting your grandfather!” 

“Oh, yeah, shit came up, flew back in a day early and let myself in at, like, four fuckin’ AM this morning,” Constance says, shrugging. “Was checking out what’s wrong with the pool table when you two started having fun, didn’t wanna interrupt. But seriously, man, we eat on that table. No judgment, but y’all better clean it up before the rest come back, responsibility and all.”

“Right,” Tammy says faintly, looking like she’s going to pass out. Constance gives them a jaunty salute and strolls back to her bedroom, and Daphne knocks her head against the wall. “Well, that was embarrassing as fuck.”

She expects Tammy to agree, and to go _I told you so,_ not for her to laugh. “Still pretty hot, though.” She cups Daphne’s chin in one hand, tilting her head up. “Maybe continue this in the privacy of our bedroom?” 

And yeah, that’s what Daphne’s fucking talking about, because seriously? One round, her fucking _ass._


	8. amita x debbie - challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'amita/debbie'. 
> 
> tags: public sex, limo sex, oral sex, pre-canon

One of the first things Amita learns about Debbie when they start working together is that Debbie loves shiny things. She’s an Ocean and she’s a master criminal and she runs cons like she could do them in her sleep, but she’s also the kind of person who stops outside Swarovski sometimes and just coos over the newest arrivals. 

“Have you seen their recent collaboration with Pixar? So adorable,” Debbie gushes to her. “They’ve got this sweet little crystal version of Riley from Inside Out and she’s surrounded by all her emotions.” 

Against her better judgment, Amita giggles and accepts Debbie’s pouty poke in her ribs with grace. That’s the thing about Debbie. She’s always surprising her.

 

 

Debbie’s a very, very good actress. If she ever wanted to leave the criminal life behind she could probably have a future on Broadway. She charms and flatters and twists people around her finger and never lets slip how dangerous she actually is until it’s too late for whoever’s in her clutches. Amita sees this unfold in front of her more than once, and it’s breathlessly incredible but also somewhat terrifying, especially because people don’t even realise Debbie’s got them in her sights until they’re at knifepoint or their bank accounts are empty.

It happens differently for her.

See, they’re on yet another con, and Amita’s done most of her work already but Debbie brings her along to the dinner meeting with the poor fucks paying upwards of two mil for zirconium. It’s a really fancy place and the couple in front of them are wide-eyed and delighted over the merchandise, and Debbie’s discussing business with them in a light tone like she hasn’t just conned them out of millions of dollars. 

Amita isn’t really good with lying to people’s faces, so she mostly keeps quiet and eats her food, which makes it really easy to tell when Debbie starts getting bored, because out of _nowhere,_ Amita feels a hand on her knee, hidden under the tablecloth. She almost squeaks out loud, but said hand tightens its grip, like a warning, then begins to slowly slide further up her leg. 

There is zero doubt who that hand belongs to, because Amita isn’t stupid. She sneaks a glance over at Debbie sitting right beside her, struggling not to let the disbelief and shock show on her face in case the couple smell a rat. And Debbie, the fucking ass, just looks perfectly composed. She’s still chatting blandly to their customers as if her fingers aren’t tracing a path up past Amita’s skirt and too dangerously close for comfort. She very badly wants to hiss something along the lines of _what do you think you are fucking doing_ to Debbie, but she really doesn’t see how. 

Her phone goes off right that second. Amita dives for her purse, thanking every deity she knows, then takes it all back when she actually sees the message. It’s from _Debbie,_ who apparently is using her _other_ hand to fucking text. 

_U ok?_

No, Amita is not ‘ok’! She texts back. _What are you fucking doing???_

Winky face emoticon. Amita refuses to be swayed. _We’re in a public place!!_

_Nobody’s watching. And I’m bored, baby. Let me get you off._

She wonders if a vein is bulging out of her forehead yet. Amita takes a long, slow, deep breath, and then really thinks about Debbie fucking her in the middle of a fancy French restaurant, curling two fingers inside her and making her come - 

 _Go slow,_ she texts back, and tosses her phone back into her purse, returning to her meal with a sort of deliberate, hysteric attention. From beside her, Debbie chuckles, soft and a little breathless, and returns to what she was doing. 

 

 

Half an hour, two million dollars and one mindblowing orgasm later, they’re taking their leave of the restaurant and back into the limo Debbie called for that night. She holds the door open for Amita, slides in and directs the driver, then leans back into the seat. Amita starts on her immediately. “Debbie Ocean, are you insane?”

“Possibly so,” Debbie admits, and Amita jabs her hard in the shoulder. “I can’t believe you just did that in a _restaurant_ during the _dinner rush_ in front of customers! What if we’d gotten caught?”

“Firstly, we didn’t and we wouldn’t have,” Debbie says, her eyes closed and her tone relaxed. “And you agreed, remember?” 

Well, yeah, okay, but that’s only because being around Debbie makes Amita feel like doing risky, stupid shit she knows she shouldn’t. She’s flailing around trying to find words for that when Debbie’s eyes flick open again and she gives Amita a long look. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Amita begins, but Debbie’s already going on. “You can get your own back, if you want,” she says. “It’s an hour’s ride back to the hotel.” She licks her lips, gesturing at the partition. “Nice and private, lots of space in here. You could do whatever you want. What do you want, Amita?”

Amita gives it up. She’ll be rational and responsible tomorrow. She glances over Debbie with a quick eye and makes a decision. “I want your mouth, fuck, let me - “ 

Debbie hums, stretching out on the seat and letting Amita prop her knees on either side of her head. “You wanna ride my face?”

This woman is _dangerous_ , Amita thinks. The fucking devil. And Debbie doesn’t even bother getting the skirt off, she just pushes it up against Amita’s waist, buries her face between Amita’s thighs and straight-up _inhales,_ then licks a stripe up, sucking on her through the fabric of her underwear, which is completely ruined, thanks a fucking lot. Amita gasps and digs her nails into the seat and she’s pretty sure if Debbie keeps that up she’s going to come just like this. 

Debbie does not, in fact, keep it up. Instead she raises one hand to pull the fabric aside and just starts opening her up with her tongue. Amita can’t even help herself, just begins rocking her hips against Debbie’s face, the entire fucking universe narrowing onto this one point - the feeling of Debbie’s wet mouth against her cunt, the sounds they’re both making, the smell of sex in the air. She’s pretty sure she’s ruining the leather of the seats by scratching and scrabbling against them for purchase, trying to keep herself upright while her legs are shaking. 

She’s so fucking close, on the edge, and Debbie just moves her thumb so it’s sliding slick over Amita’s clit and that’s fucking _it,_ she’s gone. She comes shaky and messy and loud over Debbie’s mouth and cheek and chin and the world pretty much explodes. 

She has to just lie there for a bit and swear colourfully in Tamil for five lines, because really, English isn’t sufficient to encapsulate what it’s like to have Debbie fucking Ocean eating her out. Debbie pulls herself back up into a sitting position, wiping her mouth with one careless hand, winking at her. “I got us a double bed for the suite tonight, you know.” 

Yup, Amita decides firmly. _Seriously fucking dangerous._


	9. daphne x debbie - no touching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'debbie/daphne'.
> 
> tags: voyeurism, masturbation, clothed sex, top daphne, implied switch daphne, fantasies, oral sex mention, anal sex mention, penetrative sex mention

She doesn’t talk about it to anyone, but one of the things prison genuinely fucks up about Debbie is her sleep schedule. Surprisingly, enforced routine somehow isn’t actually conducive for developing healthy sleep habits. Might have something to do with the whole deal of it being _prison,_ and also, for the first two months, her nights were pretty consumed with thoughts of violent vengeance on Claude Shitstain Becker, which kept her awake for hours. And _after_ she got out of that angry place, she was busy planning the Met heist, which obviously _also_ took up a lot of time. 

In other words - sleeping seven hours straight like a normal person? Debbie can’t relate. Which is why she ends up jerking awake at one in the morning and finds herself unable to fall back to sleep after fifteen minutes of tossing and turning. Eventually she gives it up as a lost cause and gets out of bed to prowl around, maybe get a snack or something. 

She’s en route to the kitchen when she hears it. At first her hackles rise, because she’s a criminal at heart and the first thing her mind flies to is obviously _intruder, burglar,_ but then it comes again, clearer this time, and it’s definitely coming from inside the house. A soft sound, a little urgent, but it doesn’t sound like someone’s in pain, not really. Debbie frowns, and tries to pinpoint it. 

And then - suddenly, it gets louder, and it sounds breathy, and trails off, and as she walks further down the hallway she sees light streaming through a crack - a slightly open door? She passes the door and the sound’s definitely coming from inside and through the gap between the door and the frame she sees in, and Debbie’s feet stutter to a stop, because it’s Daphne’s room, she’s looking into _Daphne’s_ room, and the girl in question is in said room. Lying on her bed, in view, with one hand between her legs and needy gasps spilling past her lips. 

It’s like there’s some mystical force that just pins Debbie to that spot, doesn’t let her move. Her rational brain is screaming for her to fucking turn and _leave_ because she can’t be here, she _shouldn’t_ be standing here with her gaze fixated on Daphne, watching her. But it feels like she’s frozen, and her mouth is dry. She can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t - 

This abruptly changes when Daphne’s hips rock against her hand and Debbie can’t really see but she surmises Daphne slides another finger inside her and she moans, filthy and desperate. “Deb,” she breathes, and the hysterical squeak leaves Debbie’s lips before she can rein it back. 

There’s no way Daphne didn’t hear that, and the moment her movements stop and she turns her gaze to the door, Debbie knows she’s screwed. Their eyes lock and Debbie feels lightheaded, all the breath leaving her lungs. For a second, neither of them move, and then Daphne - she doesn’t really smile, it’s not a smile, but her lips turn up just a little and she tosses her head back slightly. It’s unmistakeably an invitation. 

She shouldn’t, she shouldn’t, Debbie should step back and shut the door and leave and - 

“Debbie,” Daphne husks. “Come here.” 

Helplessly, Debbie does. 

 

 

“You were watching,” Daphne says, walking towards her, step by deliberate step, forcing Debbie up against her closet. “Such a voyeur.” 

“Daphne,” Debbie starts, but Daphne shakes her head, placing one finger against her lips to stop her. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “I want you to.” She presses her palm against Debbie’s chest, pushing her back against the heavy cupboard, then paces back to her bed, backwards, until she’s lying where she was again.

“You’re going to watch,” Daphne says, voice rich and thick and spellbinding. “I’m going to fuck myself on my fingers until I come and you’re going to stand there and watch me and know that I’m thinking about you the whole time. No touching.”

God, how did any of them ever think this girl was some shallow empty-headed typical Hollywood chick? She’s fucking devious, a fucking tease, and Debbie is powerless to do _anything_ other than just stand there and do as Daphne says, to just watch as she curls another finger inside her, stretching herself and arching her back, her other hand stroking over her breast. She sighs, high and breathy, and every now and then she moans Debbie’s name again like an afterthought, but Debbie isn’t stupid and she knows Daphne’s getting the fuck off on this. On making her stand there and try to ignore how soaked she is and keep her eyes on Daphne, so close yet so far. 

She’s a spring, coiled, so tense, so ready to snap, and when Daphne’s eyes fly open and she fixes Debbie with an intense stare then slides her fingers lower to play with her ass, Debbie loses it, stumbling over, practically begging, she fucking wants this, fucking _needs_ - 

“No touching,” Daphne repeats, rolling over to make space. “Get on the bed. Lie down. Don’t move. Hands to your sides.” 

Debbie close to _never_ takes orders in bed but right now she’s so turned on she can’t even speak, just does exactly as Daphne says, still fully clothed and so fucking wet. Daphne straddles her thigh, one knee between her legs, and lowers herself and _holy shit,_ Debbie can feel her fucking dripping, wetness soaking through her sweatpants. Daphne exhales this sweet, high note, then starts riding Debbie’s thigh, the rasp of flesh against fabric wet and hot in the enclosed room. 

“When I imagined this you were always on top,” Daphne says - not so much says as moans, but Debbie’s eyes are crossing from the effort it takes not to just grab Daphne by the waist and push her down and eat her out, so really, it all sounds the same right now. “You would hold me down and ride my face and finger me until I cried. Sometimes you put on a harness and opened me up with your fingers and filled my ass with your cock.” 

If Daphne keeps talking Debbie is actually going to die. She thinks her heart might actually stop beating because she can’t fucking take it. Daphne cants her hips hard, one more time, and then comes all over Debbie’s thigh, trembling. 

“Can I please touch now,” Debbie strains out. Daphne laughs, breathless, leaning down to sprawl on top of Debbie and kiss her briefly and chastely on the lips. “Maybe tomorrow. If you’ve got the stones,” she murmurs. “Just knock on my door.” 

“Yeah,” Debbie replies, and makes a mental reminder to find her harness. 


	10. debbie x lou - just talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'lou/debbie. they go to a sex shop, sex shop admin/worker flirts with debbie, lou just smirks at her & goes to pick a dildo and drags debbie to the bathroom, lou fucks debbie from behind against a wall or doggy style, lou talks dirty to her, sex-shop admin/worker learns that debbie belongs to lou' + **reddodgedaytona** \- 'lou strikes me as having a habit of bringing home different girls from her club every single night (during the five years debbie was in jail) also how come we never get strap-ons!lou cause we know she uses them a lot'. i wasn't going to post any more today but the prompts were so fucking hot i was like okay let's do it.
> 
> tags: semi-public sex, strap-ons, jealousy, humour, jealous!lou, possessive!lou, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, degrading language, consensual degrader/degradee, penetrative sex, dom/sub, dom lou, sub debbie, implied orgy, porn with feelings

It’s just any other day when Debbie saunters out of her room and into the kitchen in search of Lou. “Lou, where did you put my sex toys?” 

“What the _fuck,”_ says Daphne, throwing her iPad down onto the breakfast table and whipping her head around to glare at Debbie. “Oh my god, you two need to keep that shit to yourself!” 

“Sorry, darling,” Debbie says, not sounding in the least apologetic. Lou rolls her eyes, wiping her hands off and undoing her apron. “I don’t know where they are. How would I know where they are?”

“I thought you moved all my shit over when I went to prison!” 

“Yeah, I did, and I didn’t see any toys,” Lou says. “Did Danny take them or something?”

“Why would _Danny_ take my - you know what, don’t even answer that, I don’t want to know. Are you sure you didn’t bring them to your place or something?”

“Oh my _fucking god,”_ Daphne says, and leaves the room. Lou laughs, shaking her head. “Look, we have thirty-eight million dollars now. Just go to the nearest sex shop and buy a whole new box.” 

Debbie shrugs, conceding the point and pulling out her phone. “Hey Siri, find sex shops within five miles.”

 

 

Which is how Lou finds herself in a dingy-looking store poking around at the strap-on section, trying to identify the brand that Debbie claims to be really well-made and value-for-money. “Starts with a R or an S,” is all she has to offer, so Lou’s stuck trying to figure out which of three boxes she’s supposed to be putting into the basket. She sighs - Debbie can do this on her own, she’ll just bring all three over and let her choose.

“Deb,” she calls, walking through the shelves and towards the front, where Debbie’s standing. More accurately, where she’s leaning over the desk, her chin propped up on her elbow, laughing at something the cashier is saying. Aforementioned cashier is quite literally twirling her hair with one finger, eyes sparkling as she leans closer into Debbie’s space, licking her lips and letting her gaze settle on the dip of her shirt, the barest hint of her cleavage visible to the cashier. 

Lou’s grip tightens on the basket. “Debbie,” she repeats, harder this time, flat and cold, and Debbie’s head jerks up. She’s still smiling, and to her credit, she immediately straightens up and cuts the girl off midway through whatever she’s saying and comes to Lou’s side. “You found it, babe?”

“Yeah, I found it,” Lou replies, her hand coming to rest on Debbie’s wrist and curling around it. “Come on, let me show you.” 

She drags Debbie to the bathroom at the back, shoves her inside and slams the door behind them, locking it shut. The next moment she’s got Debbie up against the door, pinning her to it with her arms. “So you got me to go do your dirty work while you went to flutter your eyelashes and give that chick the bedroom eyes?”

Debbie’s pupils dilate, her mouth falling open just the slightest, inhaling sharply. “We were just talking, baby.” 

“That’s not what talking looks like,” Lou answers, bringing her lips to the swathe of Debbie’s throat and sucking, biting, close enough to draw blood. Her own is running hot, now, because it’s been _five years._ Five years since she and Debbie were in the same bed, five years since she got to be this close. They didn’t even get to fuck while planning the heist because there was so much shit to do to make sure nothing went wrong, and even the _thought_ of Debbie opening her legs for someone else before she does for Lou makes her snarl, possessive and desperate. “You want to fuck her, Debbie?” 

“There’s only one person I want to fuck,” Debbie replies, still a smartass, still talking back even though she’s already arching up against Lou, words trailing off into a moan. Lou grips her chin gently, then slaps her, just once, short and sharp. “Face the wall. Jeans off. Don’t fucking move.” 

Debbie obeys instantly, and it makes something flare inside Lou’s chest - how ready, how willing Debbie is, even after all this time. She grabs for one of the boxes and tears it open, hearing Debbie’s breath hitch as she works the harness around her hips, tightens and pulls. She doesn’t waste any time, can’t wait any longer, pushes up against Debbie’s back and spreads her open with two fingers. Her other hand wraps around the base of the strap-on, and she feeds it into Debbie’s cunt, dripping and hot and needy. Slides the entire length of it inside her, doesn’t give Debbie time to adjust, just starts slamming into her, again and again. 

“How does that feel?” Lou says. Debbie just moans, her breath coming in little gasps every time Lou fucks into her. Lou slaps her again, and Debbie cries out. “Answer me,” she demands. “Tell me how good my cock feels inside you, baby.”

“Feels, shit, feels so good inside me,” Debbie slurs. “Need more, fuck, Lou, please.” 

“You’re such a fucking slut,” Lou rasps, gripping Debbie’s hips so hard she’s pretty sure she’s going to leave a bruise. “Flirting with everything that fucking breathes, opening your legs for anyone.” She opens her mouth against the curve of Debbie’s shoulder, sinks her teeth down and bites, relishes in the sound of Debbie’s soft cry. “I did that too, when you left. Five years you were stuck in prison, and I went out to fuck a new girl every night.” 

“Lou,” Debbie moans, but Lou doesn’t let up. “They all had dark eyes, dark hair, long legs, always looked like you, come to think of it. Fucked them until they cried and then kicked them out of my bed. How about you, sweetheart? How many girls did you screw in prison? Did you get on your knees for them? Let them come in your mouth?” 

Debbie shakes her head minutely, just managing to suppress another whimper as Lou snaps her hips hard against her ass and buries the strap-on deeper inside her. “Never, I never, I - I’m your girl, Lou, I’m yours.” 

Lou brings her hand down hard on the rich swell of Debbie’s ass, the crack of the slap reverberating around the bathroom. “Whose cock are you taking in your cunt, Debbie?”

“Yours,” Debbie gasps, and Lou smiles, a little cruel, a little fond, a little triumphant. “And who do you fucking belong to?”

“You, I’m yours, I belong to you, only you, fuck, Lou,” Debbie’s practically babbling now, her forehead pressed against the wall and pushing back against Lou, begging for it. Lou smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of Debbie’s neck, whispering in her ear. “That’s right, baby. Such a good little whore. Now come for me.”

Debbie comes, screaming so loud Lou’s pretty damn sure the chick at the front and everyone else who happens to be in the shop can hear her. She shudders through the aftershock in Lou’s arms, tears streaming down her face, and kisses Lou hungrily, tongue sloppy and wet in Lou’s mouth. 

“You’re so good for me, darling,” Lou murmurs, pushing Debbie’s hair back and running her hands gently down Debbie’s sides. “Such a good girl.” 

“Only want you.” Debbie’s voice is still thick and slurred and heady, her head dropping against the crook of Lou’s neck. “Love you, Lou.”

Lou presses a kiss to her temple. “I love you too. Now get your clothes back on so we can bring all this stuff back home and keep going.” 

 

 

Lou’s proven right about the ‘everyone hearing Debbie come’ hypothesis when she slides her credit card over at the front and the cashier won’t meet her eyes. She keeps one hand wrapped around Debbie’s waist and smiles with all her teeth as she takes the proferred bag of their items. “Have a nice day,” she says sweetly, even leaving a tip.

“You’re a bad woman,” Debbie tells her when they exit onto the street and head for home. Lou laughs, kissing her quickly. “And you love it.” 

“I do,” Debbie agrees. “Think the girls will riot if you repeat that performance in our bedroom?”

And Lou smiles, conniving. “Well,” she says. “I’m sure they’ll change their minds once we ask them to join in.” 


	11. debbie x lou x tammy - against the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **lachtara** \- 'i'd love to see for sure a debbie/lou/tammy' + **thatlilshitloui** \- 'prayin 4 a chapter on the lou x debbie x tammy thing' + **oceanbitch** \- 'my favourites are lou and debbie and tammy and i would really appreciate a fic with the three of them'. due to popular demand here it is!
> 
> tags: pre-canon, backstory, female friendship, resolved sexual tension, semi-public sex, beach sex, tent sex, loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex, porn with feelings

Debbie’s always considered herself above the basic high school bullshit like drama and cliques, but by the end of senior year, she can kind of grasp why people sometimes look twice at her and Lou and Tammy, why they get labelled the queen bees and why rumours fly. She’s charismatic, Lou’s resourceful, Tammy’s smart, and they’re all pretty fucking hot if she does say so herself. They met in middle school, clicked instantly, and they’ve been best friends ever since. It’s an unrivalled friendship. Debbie doesn’t remember a single thing she’s done without them since she was thirteen. They’re always together, through absolutely everything. 

The closing months of their last year of high school are tough, for that very reason. There’s the implicit understanding that they might all be going their separate ways after graduation, and the unspoken questions in the air - whether they’ll still be friends, whether they’ll stay together, and maybe, just maybe, what this whole thing actually is. 

They put it off. They stick together and still do everything together and life goes on as normal. They study for finals, and get their work done, and when the theme for prom is announced, Danny teases her and asks whether she’s taking Lou or Tammy. Debbie chews thoughtfully on a burrito and puts both of them on a conference call instead. “I was thinking.” 

“Don’t strain yourself,” Lou says merrily over the line, to Tammy’s laughter and Debbie’s eye-roll. “Shut up, no, seriously. Are you two actually keen on prom?” 

Tammy hums. “I mean, I think it’ll be fun, but it wouldn’t be, like, the end of the world if I couldn’t go,” she says. Lou murmurs agreement, and Debbie takes a deep breath, steeling herself, because she’s still young but she feels like this - what she’s going to suggest next - might change some things between them. “I was thinking we ditch and go somewhere else. I have a better idea for that night. Just the three of us.”

The silence falls, thick and leaden with tension, because something _does_ shift, and Debbie holds her breath as she lets Lou and Tammy consider what she’s saying, everything between the lines. Finally, Lou speaks. “What are you thinking of?” 

 

 

Prom night arrives. While the rest of their batch heads to one of the swankiest hotels in the area, Debbie drives up to Lou and Tammy’s front doors to pick them up and swing over to the beach. It’s night time, so it’s technically closed off to the public, but that’s never stopped them from doing anything before. They end up setting up a tent in one of the quieter areas that nobody really patrols, one big enough to fit all of them comfortably. The breeze is cool, the air just a little salty, the night sky dotted with pinpricks of light. It’s incredible.

“Much better than actual prom,” Tammy decides, and Debbie and Lou agree. It’s nice, to just lie together, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the sky and talking quietly about hopes and dreams and aspirations while Lou plays soft rock through her stereo. It gets later, and Debbie breaks out the vodka she stole from Danny’s stash, and the time goes by in a warm haze. 

It feels almost inevitable - something that’s been building since they first met, folding over itself over the months and the years, leading up into this very moment. It feels comfortable, sweet, right. Lou says something that has Tammy laughing, and she looks gorgeous right then, and Debbie just puts her empty cup of vodka down, leans across, kisses her. Tammy sighs into her mouth and kisses back. It’s a wonderful kiss - slow and searching, like she’s been waiting years to do it, preparing for it, and Debbie thinks that might be close to the truth.  

It’s quiet in the tent for a good minute except for their mouths moving against each other, and when they finally pull apart, they see Lou sitting on her knees, watching avidly, the hunger raw and open in her expression. Tammy reaches out one hand to her, in a gesture of welcome, and Lou pulls it to her lips, pressing a kiss to Tammy’s palm before letting herself be tugged towards them. 

They don’t do anything more than make out for fifteen minutes, and honestly, Debbie thinks she would be perfectly content with that - to just kiss them and let herself be kissed until the sun rises - but the heat in Lou’s eyes shows she’s got other plans. She goes slow, ready to stop if anyone isn’t comfortable, but when she slides her hand up Debbie’s shirt, it feels electric. Every inch of skin Lou touches feels like it’s on fire, and Debbie wants her to just keep going, to never stop.

“Have you done this before?” Tammy gasps out when Lou licks at the hollow of her collarbone and nips lightly at the curve of her breast. Lou laughs softly and shakes her head. “You really think I would let my first fuck be with anyone but the two of you?”

That - _that,_ without a doubt - is what pulls down all remaining barriers. Lou’s confession, so blatant and so full of truth, and Debbie knows there’s no coming back from this, but why would she want to? It’s their first time, for all of them, but it’s okay, they’re best friends, they’ve gone through too much to let this fuck anything up. 

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” Lou instructs as she pushes Tammy’s dress up with one hand and her underwear down to her ankles with the other. Debbie gives herself a minute to just sit back and watch while Lou touches her, tentative at first and then going faster, harder, when Tammy just groans in pleasure and urges her on. 

Debbie lets herself take the scene in - Lou fucking Tammy, Tammy letting herself lie back and be fucked, the moonlight streaming in, the velvet night above their heads, and she wants to burn this on her brain so she remembers it forever. And when she’s done, she crawls forward, on her hands and her knees, opening her mouth against Tammy’s and swallowing her cry when she comes. 

“Jesus, Lou, your fingers,” Tammy exhales, laughing a little, and Lou rocks back on her heels, smiling wide. “Your turn, I think.” 

Tammy turns her gaze to Debbie, soft and willing. “You wanna get your pants off, Deb?”

Said pants cannot come off fast enough. The moment they are, Tammy’s already sliding up between her legs so she can press her tongue against Debbie, and Debbie can’t even concentrate on how that feels because Lou’s undoing her bra from under her shirt, doesn’t even bother getting it off. Lou meets Debbie’s gaze, doesn’t break it as she leans down to circle one of Debbie’s nipples with her tongue, just for a second, and then she takes it in her mouth, sucking gently and reaching over so her fingers twist and tug at the other. 

She’s never had sex before, but Debbie’s pretty sure that if this is how it feels, she could get fucking addicted. Her entire body is humming, every nerve ending buzzing with what she can only describe as unadulterated pleasure. 

“You should fuck me,” Lou suggests, releasing Debbie’s nipple and straightening up. She undoes her own jeans, taking Debbie’s hand and pressing the heel of her palm against her clit. Debbie can feel her, slick and hot, and Lou bites her lip, hissing. “Oh, shit - Debbie, please - “ 

Debbie is _very_ fucking happy to oblige, working two fingers inside Lou all while Tammy’s still eating her out, curling and twisting and scissoring so she brings Lou to climax in unison. 

“God, I think I could do this all fucking night,” Debbie declares, when she can _breathe_ again. Tammy turns to glance at her watch. “You can,” she says with a smile. “Six hours to sunrise.” 

Lou tosses her head back and laughs, this real, gorgeous, joyous sound. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

 

 

They don’t actually go _all_ night - by three AM, they’re exhausted and fucked-out and just fall asleep, pressed together, skin to skin. They wake up to the sun shining into their eyes, and everything settling back onto their shoulders. 

“I’m an Ocean,” Debbie blurts out, looking up at the tent and not at either of them. “I’m staying here. I’m continuing the legacy.” 

There’s a beat of silence, and it feels like she’s holding her breath all over again. She doesn’t expect them to choose her. To choose this. She would _never_ ask it of them - to give up all the possible futures they could explore for _her._ It’s a kind of sacrifice she’s not sure she could even imagine making.

But this is Lou, and Tammy, and this is about _them,_ and Debbie feels like it always will be. Tammy buries her face in the curve of her neck and Debbie can feel her smile against her skin. “Guess we’re all becoming criminals, then.” 

“Three of us against the world,” Lou murmurs drowsily, and they’re so _young,_ and Debbie isn’t sure what’s going to happen within the next five years, ten years, more, but she lets herself imagine it - the three of them, against the world, forever, and she thinks maybe, just maybe, that’s all she really needs.


	12. nine ball x tammy - deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **jayme** \- 'maybe you could do a one shot of tammy's repressed ass getting topped by nine ball's smirky smug ass?' okay i tried but somehow the smirky smug got lost amidst the repressed bit  & now it's just soft af. hope you enjoy it anyway! 
> 
> tags: not canon compliant, missing scene, comfort sex, gentle sex, non-penetrative sex, mild hurt/comfort with a focus on the comfort

Not a week into orchestrating the heist, it becomes pretty evident to Nine Ball that she’s, for all means and purposes, the outsider of the team. Debbie and Lou have been partners half their lives, and they’ve known Tammy almost as long. Debbie’s worked with Amita, Lou’s worked with Constance, and everyone knows _of_ Rose even if they didn’t actually properly make her acquaintance prior to this con. Nine Ball’s the outlier. She’s the one Lou picked up out of nowhere, the addition, the blind spot. She doesn’t know anything about the others and they don’t know anything about her either. 

Which is a good thing. It’s always been a good thing. She’s a hacker, she’s _meant_ to be invisible and unknown because that’s how she gets her job done. But the more time she spends around the girls, the more she wants to really know them. And it’s not just because it’ll benefit her either - she genuinely likes them, and respects them, and the softest part of her wants them to stick together even after this ends. That requires trust. That requires a real bond. That requires her giving up more about herself too. She gets that, and more importantly, she’s slowly beginning to embrace the idea of it.

She starts with Tammy, because - it’s hard to explain, and she doesn’t think the others would get it, but she sees something in Tammy that she recognises in herself. It’s definitely about the kids. The other girls are good people but Nine Ball can tell that they haven’t really been _needed_ before. They’ve never had someone depending entirely on them before, and they don’t know how that changes you, shapes your entire self. She thinks Tammy would get that.

And she does. They fall into something easy and almost unthinking. On slower nights, when they’ve done all the planning they can for the day or the week, the seven of them will gather in the common space for a movie marathon, and Nine Ball always ends up gravitating to her side and sliding into the space Tammy makes for her. They talk quietly into the night about everything and anything. 

It’s pretty unavoidable, that she eventually ends up asking about the past. Tammy’s the only one on the team who’s known both Debbie _and_ Lou for any significant amount of time, and the history between them is evident. “So, Debbie and Lou - they’re together?”

Tammy sighs, unconsciously stroking her thumb over Nine Ball’s hand. “Complicated. Always has been.” 

Nine Ball cocks her head, looking at her, and Tammy smiles mirthlessly. It’s a little bitter, almost. “They’ve been through a lot. Goes beyond love as most people understand it. They could - and would - fall out over something incredibly petty and be this close to tearing out each other’s throats and they’d still die for each other without hesitation.” 

“Wow,” Nine Ball says, clicking her tongue. “Complicated.” 

Tammy shrugs. “It would be hard for them. Dating, I mean. Really putting a label on what they have. I _know,”_ she says, catching the look on Nine Ball’s face. “I tried, with both of them.”

“But it didn’t work,” Nine Ball says softly. “And then you met your husband?” 

Tammy’s expression hardens a little, her eyes glazing slightly. “No. I dated someone else, for quite a few years, and it ended - badly. I just wanted to settle at that point. I was young and tired and hurting. And now I have my kids, and I love them more than anything in the world, and I’m here.”

And it hits Nine Ball suddenly, with such cold clarity, why exactly Tammy’s here. Debbie’s doing this because of who she is as a person, because she could never even conceive of doing anything else. Lou’s doing this for Debbie, because of Debbie. Rose’s doing this for the money, Amita’s doing this to run away, Constance’s doing this for the sheer fun - but Tammy’s here because she’s lonely, maybe desperately so, and looking for something she doesn’t even have a name for. 

Nine Ball doesn’t even think, doesn’t even pause, because it just stirs something in her she can’t quell - she leans over and kisses Tammy, quick and soft and chaste. It’s meant to be comfort, of some sort, maybe the only way she knows how to say _yeah, I know, I get it, I’m so sorry, you deserve so much better._ She doesn’t even get to pull back an inch before Tammy’s cupping her chin and bringing her close again. She kisses like it’s water and she’s been crawling through the desert, like she’s been craving it for years. 

Something swells inside Nine Ball, pushing against her ribcage, in her heart, and suddenly all she wants is to give this woman what she so badly needs, what she _deserves._ She eases Tammy down against the sofa, resting the weight of her body on top of Tammy’s, never breaking the kiss until they’re both comfortably settled. Tammy looks like she’s going to say something, this awful look of doubt and guilt in her eyes, and Nine Ball shakes her head, drops a light kiss against her forehead. “Just let me take care of you,” she says, meaning every word. “Just let me make you feel good.” 

Tammy closes her eyes and exhales, like she’s unspooling, her muscles slowly releasing the pent-up tension. She nods, tight, just one sharp movement, and Nine Ball takes it as permission. She brushes light kisses against Tammy’s forehead, her lips, her throat, and pushes her hand past the waistband of her sweats. 

Nine Ball likes it rough in bed, likes to give it to girls hard and fast and fucking _wreck_ them, and she’s not used to going soft, going slow. But she thinks that might be what Tammy needs, and right now, all she wants is to fulfil that need. She strokes Tammy’s clit, slow and steady, matching it to the rhythm of her mouth moving against Tammy’s. Doesn’t even need to slide her fingers inside her before Tammy shudders out her orgasm with nothing but a choked gasp, her eyes squeezed shut. 

“Hey,” Nine Ball says, surprising herself with how gentle her voice is. “You don’t need to hold back with me. Just let yourself feel it. Just let yourself enjoy it.” 

“I am,” Tammy replies, and Nine Ball studies her expression closely, letting her gaze roam over Tammy’s face, and oh - she _is._ She isn’t just saying that - she _is_ letting herself feel good, letting herself come apart in Nine Ball’s hands. Nine Ball smiles proudly, and keeps working her fingers between Tammy’s thighs, stroking her, dipping inside, just a little. “Feels nice?”

Tammy hums agreement, and Nine Ball can actually _see_ the strain and the weight she’s been carrying beginning to slide off her shoulders, bit by bit. She looks blissed out, and it makes Nine Ball’s heart clench a little. “You deserve to feel good, honey.” 

“You make me feel good,” Tammy responds happily, and Nine Ball grins, kisses her again, says a silent thank you to Lou for bringing her on board this team, giving her this. It’s not everything, but it’s a start, and seeing Tammy melt into her feels like the beginning of something real, something good, and she’s ready to dive in and explore.


	13. debbie x tammy - trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **jane** \- 'please consider writing more debbie/tammy, would love either backstory or them sneaking around, esp since tammy is married to an apparently pretty clueless guy'. sorry guys i'm a sucker for infidelity fics (hooray for trauma + awful coping mechanisms!) so here we are.
> 
> tags: infidelity, near future, semi-public sex, kitchen sex, fingering, biting, marking

Debbie wasn’t at Tammy’s wedding and they both remember that very clearly. She wasn’t at Tammy’s wedding because she was putting that very last con into place with Claude and couldn’t make it down in time. She wasn’t at her son’s first month celebration because by then she was already on trial, and Debbie didn’t even _know_ about Tammy’s daughter until the day she breaks into Tammy’s garage because the kid’s four, and four years ago, she was sitting in a cell carving her toothbrush into a shiv. 

She’s missed - a lot, really. Time passes fucking slowly in prison, but being out, standing in the garage hiding from Tammy’s daughter, it makes her realise just how much has changed while she wasn’t around to see it. 

“I still can’t believe you actually got married,” Debbie says. She tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice and succeeds, mostly. There’s still five years of tension simmering between them - more, really - and catching up on five years’ worth of lost time isn’t easy. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanted some stability,” Tammy retorts, trying to act like she isn’t grabbing on to one of the shelves like she’ll collapse in on herself if she doesn’t. Debbie laughs at that, and doesn’t manage to keep the tart resentment out of it this time. “Don’t give me that shit, you’ve never wanted a stable life in all the years you’ve been alive.” She digs her nails into her palm, clenching her jaw. “This con, it’s going to be huge. It’s going to be glitzy and glorious and run like clockwork. It will be complex and it won’t be a walk in the park but it _will_ be successful and that success will taste fucking sweet. _That’s_ what you really want, Tammy, and you know it.” Debbie exhales, hot and sharp, sliding her fingers through her hair. “Offer’s on the table.”

And Tammy goes.

Of course she does.

 

 

After - that’s the only way she can think of it, just _after_ and nothing more - she goes back home, and nothing is the same. Because Debbie’s right, always is, annoyingly. Tammy loves her kids to the death but she finds herself chafing anyway, wanting more than suburbia and security and a garage full of garbage when she’s got thirty-eight mil sitting in an offshore account. Her husband is sweet, and supportive, and patient, and kind, and trusting, and he’s nothing Tammy’s been looking for, not ever. 

But she’s trying to be good. She’s trying to be better. She grits her teeth and expands her business and keeps trying to be the person she’s supposed to be.

“Stop trying so hard,” Debbie tells her. 

“What are you doing in my house?” Tammy replies, turning the blender off and glaring at her. “The kids could come back any time, get out before they do.” 

“I let myself in. I know where your keys are.” With this disturbing but unsurprising proclamation, she paces forward, leaning against the kitchen counter next to Tammy. “Tam. You don’t need to do this. You don’t need to try so fucking hard to be this - this person that you think you _should_ be but never will be. This isn’t you and it shouldn’t have to be. You have more than thirty million dollars to your name, Tammy. You can do whatever you want, be whatever you want, have whatever you want. Why don’t you?”

Tammy looks at Debbie, standing beside her, radiating confidence and surety, and her heart clenches so hard she can’t breathe. She’s always wanted to be like Debbie, all her life. She thinks she might have wanted her almost as long. “I can’t,” she says, and thinks of gambits and pawns and liars. 

Debbie doesn’t stop looking at her. “I know you love your kids, but they’re not what I’m asking you to give up. He’s not what you want.” Her gaze seems to be boring deep into Tammy, seeing through her into the deepest recesses of her soul. “What do you want, Tammy?”

God, she moves like it’s muscle memory, like she’s been imagining it so many times her brain just ingrained it on her hands, her lips, without her ever even doing it. She steps away from the blender, in front of Debbie, puts her arms around her neck and kisses her, long and deep and desperate. Debbie tastes like cinnamon, like mint, like freedom. She makes Tammy want things, want what she shouldn’t have and lose her fucking mind.

It’s why she presses closer, harder, one hand already halfway down Debbie’s jeans before she can stop to think about what she’s doing. The thought of fucking Debbie in her kitchen, in her house, the one she shares with her son and her daughter and her _husband_ - 

“Stop,” Debbie says, and Tammy feels Debbie’s hand on her cheek, her chin, tilting her head up to look at her. “Stop thinking. It’s okay. It’s okay to want this.” She pushes Tammy’s hand further down the front of her jeans, fingers finding her soaking into her underwear. It takes some effort to find the best way to slide inside Debbie but once she does it feels amazing, it feels almost like she’s the one getting fucked. It’s like the warm, wet heat of Debbie’s cunt just opens up to her, and she pushes deeper and deeper, hard and rough and everything she’s always thought about at one in the morning lying on her bed unable to sleep. 

“Tammy, oh god, fuck,” Debbie moans, clinging on to Tammy with her mouth on her neck, sucking with just the slightest hint of teeth, the way Tammy knows to be with the intent to mark. Her rational brain is screaming at her that it’s a _bad fucking idea_ but Debbie does it so good, biting down a little and sliding her tongue against the skin, and Tammy _wants_ that bruise there. Wants to have something to hold on to when they’re done and Debbie slips out back into the shadows. 

She comes back to her senses, just a little, when Debbie shudders out her orgasm on her hand, against her fucking kitchen counter. Tammy steps back, wiping her fingers on her pants. “They’ll be back any minute, you need to leave, now.” 

Debbie stands there, jeans still undone, just looking at her, through her again. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, god, Debbie, you can’t get caught here, all right?” Tammy snaps, frustrated. “Look, give me - tomorrow. Come by, tomorrow, at two. And we’ll talk. We can talk.”

“Okay,” Debbie says softly, and there’s understanding but also relief and desire in that one single word and Tammy suddenly remembers - prison, five years, Debbie wanting, but not being able to have what she wants. She can feel that in the way Debbie kisses her, a lingering kiss, one last time before she heads out the front door. Tammy inhales, holds it, touches the blossoming bruise on her throat and lets herself want for the first time in a long, long while. 


	14. constance x daphne - tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone prompted me to write amita x constance. i was halfway through this before i realised constance x daphne fit better. so now i'm _still_ working on amita x constance  & this will go up first. enjoy!
> 
> alternative title for this chapter: My Ongoing Fascination With Anne Hathaway's Amazing Ass. 
> 
> all the references are TRUE because i have an accuracy kink tbvh. cuyahoga community college is one of the ten colleges in america which offers a two-year course in massage therapy & it's in the closest state to new york. prostitution is also actually legitimately illegal in new york. 
> 
> tags: massages, oral sex, rimming

Constance is the youngest one on the team, which absolutely nobody is surprised by, because she acts like it a lot of the time. Not in a bad way, but she’s just - _younger._ She’s got this lightness about her that speaks for not having extra years weighing on her shoulders. Honestly, it’s like a breath of fresh air amongst them, and nobody ever begrudges her for it. 

It does mean, however, that they expect her to have less on her figurative resume than the rest of them, owing to the simple fact that most of them have ten to fifteen years of _existence_ they were filling with experiences. It’s a rookie mistake, and they all only figure it out one evening when they’re sitting at the dinner table and conversation has somehow led into Daphne recounting an embarrassing but admittedly hilarious hazing experience she had with her college sorority. Constance ends up being the only one laughing, and the others just stare at her with blank confusion. 

“What?” Daphne demands, looking around at them. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Sorry,” Lou shrugs. “I just don’t get why that’s so funny. Is it a college thing? Because I never went to college.”

Murmurs of assent rise from around the table. Daphne’s jaw drops. “Wait a second, _none_ of you went to college?”

“Ocean,” Debbie says, pointing to herself, as if it explains everything - though in fairness, it kind of does. Lou and Tammy both nod in slightly creepy unison. “We followed her.” 

“Three Musketeers? Sick,” Nine Ball grins. “My parents could afford to pay my tuition or Veronica’s, either or. Easy choice. And I was already hacking as a kid. Didn’t really see the need for college.” 

“The same,” Rose contributes. “I mean, not the hacking. But I was already in the fashion industry by the time I was twelve, so I just kept going.”

“Okay, Hollywood is really an ivory tower under a rock,” Daphne says, still looking wide-eyed. “Amita, I assume jewellery was the family business, so you just followed.” Amita inclines her head with a smile of assent. Daphne pokes her fork in Constance’s direction. “And you were on the street conning the shit out of tourists?”

“What?” Constance frowns, looking almost offended. “No! I went to college. No bachelor’s or doctorate or what the fuck ever, but I graduated. I got a certificate and everything.” 

“Wait, what?” Tammy says, drowned out by Daphne’s squeal of excitement. “Yes! Where did you go? Did we go to the same college? Oh my god, it would be so _wild_ if we went to the same college! I went to Vassar!” 

Constance snorts unelegantly, not without humour. “Sorry, Daph, a bit rich for my blood. I went to Cuyahoga, in Ohio. It’s a community college.” 

“Wait, but you were born and raised in New York, right?” Debbie says, her brows furrowed. “Why did you go to a community college all the way in Ohio?” 

Constance gives her this _duh_ look, like it’s something really basic. “Because it was the closest one that offered a course in massage therapy.” 

Majestic silence falls over the dining table. Daphne leans in, looking suddenly and very deeply interested. Her eyes are sparkling in a way that interests Constance in return. “You’re a _licensed masseuse?”_

“Yeah,” Constance affirms, then wiggles her fingers. “Best hands in the business, remember?” 

“You are truly _fascinating,”_ Debbie says, and the rest start peppering her with questions, and Lou puts her head down and laughs until she cries, but Constance lingers on Daphne’s face. The interest remains, getting more intense and less platonic, and she definitely likes the look of it. 

 

 

Constance is completely unsurprised when she hears a knock on her door that night. She opens it to find Daphne with one hand on her hip and the other holding a stack of fifties. “I want a massage. I’ll pay you.”

Constance lets her gaze focus on the dip of Daphne’s cleavage first and the money second. “You know,” she drawls, hoping to _god_ she’s reading this right. “Prostitution isn’t legal in the state of New York.” 

Daphne, bless her intelligent soul, catches on her quick, her eyes narrowing and her lips curving up in a sly smile. “But I’m just getting a massage,” she says, saccharine-sweet and _so_ obviously not walking out of Constance’s bedroom with her clothes intact. “That’s definitely legal.” 

Not that either of them have ever given a shit about legality, so Constance opens the door a little wider and directs Daphne to her bed. “Your clothes go on this chair, and you go face down on the bed.” 

“Mmm,” Daphne hums, doing as Constance says. She strips almost uncaringly, and her body is _perfect_ \- it fucking takes Constance’s breath away, and her hands are shaking a little when she slides them against the expanse of Daphne’s back. It’s been a while since she’s actually put her cert to use, but she actually wants to do this right, doesn’t just want it to be another quick, random fuck. She works at the knots in Daphne’s muscles, pressing and pushing just the right way to loosen her up, feeling her give and soften under Constance’s ministrations. 

“You’re really tense,” Constance comments, and Daphne sighs contentedly, the sound muffled by the mattress. “I’m sure you can do something about that.”

“Well, I am a masseuse,” she replies. She briefly considers tormenting Daphne a bit further, stretching out the teasing, the foreplay, but she’s also horny as hell and really wants to put her mouth on Daphne now, so - maybe another time. Instead she presses a kiss to the back of Daphne’s neck, then traces her tongue down the curve of her spine, past the gorgeous plush of her ass, and spreads her legs so she can lick Daphne open. 

She flicks her tongue against Daphne’s clit, once, twice, and is richly rewarded with the sound of Daphne’s long, low moan, the way those long fingers clench and curl into Constance’s sheets. “Holy shit, Constance, fuck, more, I need more, I need - “

“More, huh,” Constance answers, her fingers toying with Daphne’s clit, moving further up and up. “What do you want, Daph? You want my tongue in your ass?”

Daphne makes this _sound_ like all the breath has been punched out of her and arches her back, pushing her face deeper into the mattress. Constance grins, using two fingers to spread her, furled and tight, and pretty much buries her face between Daphne’s legs. She doesn’t actually think Daphne can come _just_ from Constance rimming her, but Daphne proves her wrong, back going rigid and her legs trembling from the sweet shock. She goes completely boneless seconds later, sinking into the mattress and sighing, a gorgeous, reedy sound. “Okay, that _definitely_ took all the tension out of my muscles for fucking sure.” 

Constance grins, sitting back on her heels and wiping her mouth with one hand. “I don’t know. You could always use a bit more relaxation.” 

“Hmm, I could,” Daphne agrees, turning her head so she can face Constance, and Constance definitely doesn’t miss the wicked look in her eyes. “Or I could give my mouth a workout and put those muscles to use.” 

“Well,” says Constance, sliding her legs out from under her and spreading them wide, watching breathlessly as Daphne pulls herself up and comes closer, leaning in. “How can I possibly say no?”


	15. amita x constance - fuck marry kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **herequeerandreadytofight** \- 'i love the way you write amita and constance!!! if there was a fic shipping them that'd be amazing'. 
> 
> tags: resolved mutual interest, mild humour, fingering, fantasies, implied future roleplay, implied future semi-public sex

It’s Constance’s harebrained idea to do the _FUCK MARRY KILL_ list. Amita has no idea how it even starts - all she knows is that suddenly Constance is getting all of them to each do an internal FMK list and hand it in to her by the eve of her birthday as part of some surprise (???) and she has that look in her eye that says woe betide anybody who doesn’t hand theirs in. 

They do it on paper - nobody dares to give Constance a softcopy version because Nine Ball would be on that shit in seconds - and Amita watches the others discreetly hand folded slips to Constance here and there and it’s so _weird,_ how everyone is so prompt about it. Daphne submits hers just fifteen minutes after Constance announces it in the first place, which is baffling and suspicious and weird. 

Amita does not. She has to think through it, or at least that’s what she tries to tell herself, because she knows if she actually puts pen on paper she’s going to end up chickening out. She can barely let herself think it, let alone write it. She’s not even sure why. 

She’s sure about the _MARRY._ Easy game - marry Tammy. Tammy’s got her foot in every door and if she doesn’t, she finds another way to open it. She’s actually got a _stable home life_ and the cleanest record, because she isn’t as mindlessly reckless as the others and hasn’t gotten caught. She’s a criminal at heart but she can slip easily into a normal life, or at least one that _looks_ normal. Looking at it practically, she’s the best choice for Amita to marry. 

 _KILL_ is slightly harder because she doesn’t actually want to kill any of the others, but eventually she also takes the practical route out and selects Debbie. Debbie’s _dangerous._ Not only is she an actual legitimate criminal, she knows Amita the best. Debbie could blackmail her out of all thirty-eight million dollars in her share. It makes sense that she would take her out in case that ever happened. Get rid of the danger before it can get rid of you. 

It’s the _FUCK_ that’s hard. Amita writes her _MARRY_ and her _KILL_ on the back of a receipt and leaves the _FUCK_ blank for a week, because here’s the thing: Constance is collecting all the FMK lists, Constance is running this thing for whatever strange reason, Constance is going to be reading this stuff. 

The problem being, obviously, that Amita’s _FUCK_ is absolutely, irrevocably Constance herself. 

 

 

She does eventually write the name down, after a solid week of agonising. In teeny-tiny font, very light ink, and then leaves it on her desk because she can’t even face the idea of handing it in.

Which means, of course, that she inevitably forgets about it.

 

 

The day before Constance’s birthday she sticks her head round Amita’s doorframe and hisses her name. “Amita!” 

“What,” Amita replies. Constance darts into the room, shutting the door behind her and glaring her down. “Your list. I still haven’t gotten it.” She glances over Amita’s desk, fixing her gaze on the receipt still sitting innocently on a stack of magazines. “Oh, there we go. Let me just - “

Amita suddenly remembers what _exactly_ is written on the receipt and lets out an unholy shriek, leaping across the room for the receipt before Constance can get her hands on it, but it’s too late - Constance’s already got it in her hand and Amita’s trajectory has slammed her right into Constance's shoulder, knocking both of them a foot back against the wall. 

“What the fuck, Amita,” Constance says, then takes in what’s written on the receipt. Her eyes narrow slightly, and a small, triumphant smile curls up on her face. _“Oh.”_

“Give that back,” Amita raises her voice, trying to be stern about it. Constance just smirks, sticking it into her pocket. “No, I don’t think so. It’s my list.” 

“Constance,” Amita says, a little desperately, but Constance’s smile just gets wider. Her hands slide down to rest on Amita’s waist, and she licks her lips, looking coy. It’s definitely an act - Constance is _never_ coy and would probably die before she tried to be - but it looks so deeply convincing Amita almost falls hard for it. “So I’m your _FUCK,_ huh?”

Yes, she is without a doubt Amita’s _FUCK_ and if she keeps doing that thing with her eyes and her tongue swiping across her lower lip that _FUCK_ is going to happen within the next ten seconds. Especially when she tips her head back a little and laughs and the expanse of her throat is bared for Amita to see, and Amita is suddenly very glad she shut the door behind her. 

“I was going to share everyone’s lists tomorrow,” Constance divulges, tone playful. “Get some of the sexual tension out of this house. Make people laugh at the _KILL_ options. That’s why these had to be secret. But I can tell you mine now. Do you want to know?” She doesn’t wait for Amita’s response. “Daphne, she’s my _KILL._ Not because I don’t like her, but because I knew her last, and I’m least close to her. Now, Tammy, she’s my _MARRY_ too. She’d be a good provider, and we could work together well - I steal shit, she fences it.” She pauses, tracing her fingertips along the line of Amita’s jaw. “Wanna know who my _FUCK_ was?”

Amita thinks she can guess, considering they’re standing in her room pressed so close and her heart is thundering out of her chest. “Who?”

Constance laughs, doesn’t even bother replying before she wraps her arms around Amita’s neck and kisses her. Amita doesn’t hesitate, kisses back fiercely, deeply, dragging both of them to her bed and tumbling messily onto it. She works at the zip on Constance’s jeans, vaguely aware of Constance doing about the same with her. It’s a little chaotic and just on this side of wild and Amita is high on it already. It’s almost like a game, how fast they can get into each other’s pants, and Constance wins - of course she does - pressing into Amita with one finger, another, another. 

“How long have you wanted this, Amita?” Constance asks, voice a gentle murmur right into Amita’s ear. How she manages to rub two brain cells together to answer coherently Amita will never know, but somehow or another, she does. “Since - since I saw you in your suit. For the Gala.” 

Constance hums in understanding. “My server outfit. You thought I looked good in that? It got you off?” Her voice drops in timbre, this gorgeous rumble that Amita swears she can feel in her chest. “You want me to put it on again, so you can tear it off me?”

No joke, Amita thinks she would pay half her share for that privilege. She answers by sliding her thumb right against Constance’s clit and relishing in the way Constance quivers a little on top of her, her mouth dropping open in a moan of pleasure. “I imagined it,” she says, because payback is sweet. “Imagined sitting where Daphne was, and you _serving_ me. Getting on your knees under that table and eating me out while I ate my dinner.”

“Oh wow, kinky,” Constance laughs, breathless with it. “Maybe I’ll do that at our current actual dinner table - oh - fuck, yeah, just like that, harder.” Amita obliges, times it right so Constance comes against her hand just when she does. She’s sweating and gasping and dizzy with it and it’s the most satisfied she’s been since they pulled off the heist. 

“I still have the gloves from that night,” Constance says, her breathing evening back to normal. “But I’ll use them on you _after_ tomorrow. We still have lists to discuss with the others.” 

“Was I really your _FUCK?”_ Amita asks. Constance turns to look her in the eye, grinning and pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Guess not,” Amita replies. “Good judgment.”

“You too,” Constance says, winking, and pushes up against her to kiss her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the other girls' fictional fmk lists for funzies! 
> 
> debbie - nine ball, lou, tammy [ "you know too much about me, tim tam" ]  
> lou - daphne, debbie, tammy [ "same boat as debbie. sorry, tammy" ]  
> tammy - daphne, nine ball, DEBBIE + LOU [ "both of you can get it" ]  
> nine ball - lou, tammy, debbie [ "take the dangerous one out first" ]  
> rose - amita, daphne, debbie [ "i agree with nine ball" ]  
> daphne - debbie, rose, nine ball [ "what is wrong with all of you??? nine ball's the hacker, she knows everything about us, she's obviously the biggest danger???" ]


	16. debbie x lou x nine ball - punish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **heyheyhey** \- 'if you're taking requests i would literally kill a man for some more debbie x lou x nine ball omg'.
> 
> tags: established polyamorous relationship, dom/sub, dom nine ball, sub debbie, switch lou, bondage, fingering, oral sex, mild sadism, spanking mention, aftercare

Nine Ball knows it’s going to be a _wild_ one when she comes home from stocktaking at the snooker place, walks into the bedroom, and sees Debbie on the bed, handcuffed to the headboard and the ball gag in her mouth. She throws the question casually over to Lou, who’s lounging on the armchair by the bookshelf, flipping through a magazine. “So what did she do this time?” 

“Just being a brat, as usual,” Lou replies, lazy and cool. She doesn’t look up from the magazine. “I was going to punish her, but I know you’re stocktaking today and that shit always stresses you out. Thought you might want to do it instead. To relax, and all that.”

“Mm,” Nine Ball answers noncommitally, still letting her gaze roam over Debbie, gloriously naked and vulnerable. She cocks her head. Lou’s right, she _is_ stressed, and the thought of putting Debbie over her knee and spanking her is already enough to soothe some of the tension from her muscles. But it’s been one hell of a week and she’s also feeling a little cruel, so she slides her glance to Lou instead. “Or we could make her watch.”

Lou does look up this time, grin wide and dark. “Oh, darling, that’s practically a reward,” she purrs, but they both hear Debbie’s smothered, needy moan, and they both ignore it. Lou tosses the magazine onto the floor and stalks towards Nine Ball, kisses her, ardent and consuming. Nine Ball kisses back for a bit, gently works both of them closer to the front of the bed, to which Debbie’s ankles are tied. Pushes Lou against the rails and murmurs in her ear. “Bend over for me?”

Lou makes a soft noise of assent, turning so she faces Debbie and bends, grabs on to the top rail and lets Nine Ball slide her pants off. She grips tight, doesn’t let go when Nine Ball presses three fingers inside her. She keeps her head down and lets Nine Ball fuck her, rough and a little violent, the bed shaking a little from the force. Nine Ball can see Debbie’s chest heaving, her pupils blown wide and her cunt dripping, soaking the bed beneath her. 

“You want to be fucking us, don’t you, babe?” Nine Ball says, keeping her voice deliberately low and husky. “You want to be underneath Lou, your arms around her while I fingerfuck both of you, and you want to come on my hand.” Debbie’s eyes close and she sobs around the gag, high and desperate. “Bad girls don’t get what they want, Debbie.” 

Debbie just manages to make a noise that sounds a bit like a distorted _please._ Nine Ball doesn’t stop working her fingers inside Lou, but hums thoughtfully. “Lou, baby, what do you think?”

Lou pants out the words, each one punctuated by a moan. “I want it. Want to ride her face.” 

“Okay,” Nine Ball says agreeably. “But she still needs to be punished, yeah? How about this, Debbie,” she continues, making sure Debbie’s looking at her, listening to her. “You make Lou come under two minutes, and you’re good. Any longer than that, I put you over my knee. One slap for every second over two minutes.” 

Which is hardly a punishment, because Debbie fucking _lives_ for that, lives for Nine Ball’s palm on her ass, but it’s a win-win situation for all of them, really, so who’s counting? Nine Ball draws her hand back, taps Lou’s thigh and nods towards Debbie. Lou clambers onto the bed, undoing Debbie’s gag with a fond smile. 

“Please,” Debbie says, the first word out of her mouth, slurred and rough from the temporary unuse. “I want - I can be good for you, promise.” 

“We know, baby girl,” Lou replies, kissing her softly. “You’re going to be good, going to make me come.” She straddles Debbie’s face, her knees resting against the bed, and then sighs and settles into the rhythm, rocking against Debbie’s mouth. Nine Ball just watches, savours the sight in front of her, the sounds - Lou’s breathy sighs, the slick, messy way Debbie frantically eats Lou out, her own breathing. 

Nine Ball doesn’t time it, but doesn’t need to, anyway - Lou comes in under a minute, already brought to the edge by Nine Ball’s fingers. Debbie keeps licking her through the orgasm, looking so eager to please Lou, so frantic to please both of them. Nine Ball walks over, sits on the bed by her side, strokes her hair and presses her lips to Debbie’s forehead. “Good girl.” 

Lou hums agreement, gingerly shifting her weight and bringing her legs away from Debbie’s head, moving to the corners of the bed to unlock the handcuffs and untie her ankles. “You okay, baby? The ropes weren’t too tight?”

Debbie shakes her head, the obvious satisfaction lingering on her face as she flexes her hands. Lou smiles, pleased. “You were perfect. I love how good you are for both of us.” 

“Gorgeous,” Nine Ball adds, sliding under the sheets with both of them and letting Debbie press close against her, breathing in the scent of her hair and stroking her hands against her skin. 

“You take such good care of me,” Debbie says serenely, so content and happy and it makes both of them smile. “Give me what I need.”

“Always,” Lou says, Nine Ball echoing it. “You’ll always be safe with us.”

“I know,” Debbie replies, and curls up against them, breathing easy, knowing it’s where she wants to be for the rest of her life.


	17. daphne x lou - quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **reddodgedaytona** \- 'i think we need another daphne/lou and with lou again as the top but obviously daphne is very loud in bed'. okay, so this did not follow the entire spirit of the prompt, because when i was working on it all i could think about was the [library scene in bloomington](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUynbu83Wto&frags=pl%2Cwn). so daphne is still loud. but not in the way you would think! enjoy. 
> 
> tags: established relationship, future fic, near future, public sex, strap-ons, penetrative sex, implied oral sex, i feel like this is kind of on the brink of edgeplay but not exactly, _so_

The thing about Lou is that she’s never been one for pillow talk. Whenever they fuck, Daphne ends up sprawled on their bed under the sheets with her head tucked against Lou’s shoulder, Lou stroking her hair with uncharacteristic gentleness until they both fall asleep. So it surprises her, the last night before Daphne goes on location, when they’re cooling down from a couple rounds and Lou starts talking. “You’re so quiet whenever we have sex.” 

Which is… very true. Pillow talk Lou doesn’t do, but dirty talk? She runs her mouth in bed and screams Daphne’s name and moans like a slut and it’s music to Daphne’s ears, always, but she herself doesn’t really do that. She exhales the barest of gasps and pants when Lou fucks her, and clenches her teeth when she comes and doesn’t let a sound past them. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I was just thinking,” Lou answers. “It’ll be cold in this room when you’re away.”

Daphne smiles in the darkness, reading between the lines. “Don’t miss me too much, baby.”

She hears Lou’s laughter, smoky and genuine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t.”

 

 

It takes Daphne just four days on location to understand why Lou said she wouldn’t. Everyone needed on the location shoot gets flown to Los Angeles and they start work immediately, and by day four Daphne’s this close to pulling all her hair out. Directing is more stressful than _anybody_ conceives and she is not getting enough acknowledgment for this shit. 

It’s almost midnight and she’s making her way back to her trailer, wondering if she still has any rosé left over to calm her nerves a bit. She’s more than a bit tired, which is why she doesn’t notice the figure standing in front of the door until she looks up and just manages to suppress a shriek. The figure is clad in a black bomber jacket and leaning against her trailer like she belongs there, and it takes Daphne just a second to realise it’s Lou. 

“Hey,” Lou says, winking at her and speaking oh-so-casually like she isn’t supposed to be more than two thousand miles away back home. “How’s the shoot been?”

“What are you doing here? How did you get past security?” Okay, this is _Lou_ \- Daphne realises it’s a stupid question a second later and accepts Lou’s unimpressed stare with grace. Lou, in turn, just shrugs. “I missed you,” she replies. “The bed feels too big and getting myself off doesn’t feel the same.” 

Daphne affixes her with a look of complete and utter disbelief. “You flew into California all the way from New York because you were _horny?”_

“No,” Lou blatantly lies. “I was actually thinking a lot about what we talked about right before you left. Do you remember?” She steps closer to Daphne, her expression telegraphing desire and hunger and curiosity. “About you being quiet in bed.”

“Are you serious?” Daphne says, but Lou keeps talking over her. “I kept wondering, and coming up with theories, and then I thought… you know, maybe if you’re so quiet when you don’t need to be, I wonder how quiet you would be when you absolutely had to?” 

She’s in Daphne’s space now, both of them pressed chest to chest, brushing her lips against Daphne’s cheek, her jaw, the edge of her mouth. Daphne lets out a feeble whimper when Lou rocks her hips against hers, just this slight, brief movement, and she feels the unmistakeable outline of a strap-on under her jeans. 

“I want to fuck you,” Lou says, clear and purposeful. “I want you against the outside of your trailer, clinging on to me while I fuck my cock into you, and I want to see how quiet you are then, when _anyone_ could hear you and come and investigate.” 

The mere _thought_ of it makes Daphne instantly wet. She drops her head against Lou’s shoulder and nods, her skin already sparking and her blood hot with the idea. With one hand she presses her palm against the bulge of Lou’s crotch, finding the zip and tugging it down. Lou doesn’t even bother with taking her jeans off, just gets the strap-on out, then slides her hands under the swell of Daphne’s ass and scoops her up, pushing her against the exterior of the trailer. In this position, Daphne can _feel_ the length of the toy pressed up against her cunt, her clit, and before she can quell it, she’s already letting a low moan slip past her lips. 

“Shh,” Lou reminds her. “You have to be quiet, remember? Legs around my waist, darling. Just like that.” With one hand still supporting Daphne’s weight, the other wraps around the base of the toy and presses the tip against the folds of Daphne’s cunt, where she’s opening up for Lou, and Lou eases it in, burying it all the way to the hilt. She pauses when she’s all the way in, looking right at Daphne. “Good?”

All Daphne has to do is nod, and then Lou’s starting to fuck her in earnest, her hips rocking and driving the strap-on inside Daphne, again and again. Every time she thrusts it feels like she’s punching a breath out of Daphne, all the way up in her chest, her lungs, and Daphne _knows_ she has to be quiet, knows anyone could step out of _their_ trailer at any time and see her giving it up for her girlfriend, getting brutally fucked out in the open with no regard for who can see her and how wrecked she looks. But god, she can’t, she just _can’t_ \- her mouth and her brain seem to move independently of each other, and with Lou’s every movement, she’s whining and moaning and crying out, the sounds seeming to echo louder in the stillness of the night. 

And Lou doesn’t let up for a second, pounding into Daphne so hard that she’s _sure_ the trailer is shaking on its axles, the thud of their bodies against the frame definitely audible to everyone within five miles. She vaguely hears Lou murmuring - _I know, darling, I know_ \- and slowly realises she’s beginning to babble incoherently as she gets closer and closer to climaxing, slurring out her words, _you feel so fucking good inside me, splitting me open, filling me up, want more, want it deeper, fuck me harder, need you Lou, make me come, so close, I want I want I want._

“Come on my cock, baby,” Lou whispers, and Daphne is pretty fucking sure she screams - an actual, full-blooded, pitching scream as Lou thrusts into her one more time and she shudders out the most intense orgasm she’s had in weeks. Without another word Lou pulls out, puts her down, flings the door to her trailer open and pulls both of them inside before they can get caught. 

“Cured,” she says, smug smile on her face, and Daphne wants to flip her the bird but doesn’t really think she can move for a bit. Her thighs are slick and her blood is singing but she already feels empty without Lou inside her, already wants more. 

“How long can you be here?” Daphne asks, when she finally manages to figure out how to string words together again. “Because I’m putting you on the visitor list and you can stay here every night.” 

“I can be here as long as you want me to be,” Lou replies, lustful but also deeply sincere. Daphne _really_ likes the sound of that, and now that she really thinks about it, she’s pretty sure she wouldn’t actually have been able to survive three entire months of shooting without Lou in her bed every night. “Then I want you here for all three months.”

Lou’s smile widens, her pupils dilating. “Your trailer, is it soundproofed?”

“Unfortunately not,” Daphne says. “Fortunately, they can’t kick me off the project for being too loud in bed, so I can scream your name as much as I want.” 

“Very nice. But, you know…” Lou comments, tracing one finger down the length of the toy, still gleaming in the light from having been inside Daphne. “I can think of better things to do with your mouth.” 

Daphne’s pretty sure she can, too, and is way more than fucking willing, just drops to her knees and opens up for Lou, and after that the whole thing about being quiet or loud is taken off the table for a bit, with her mouth otherwise and blessedly occupied.


	18. lou x nine ball - pistol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **oceanbitch** \- 'maybe u could write a really kinky lou and nine ball as they both like it rough'. this is as kinky as i get without edging into the Really Dubious Seriously Not Safe Nor Sane shit like watersports and scat. this should go without saying but the events of this chapter are entirely fictional  & not based of any real-life experiences. it is generally a very bad idea to actually attempt gunplay & bloodplay in real life. be wise, friends.
> 
> tags: near future, future fic, scratching, marking, fingering, gunplay, implied bloodplay

Nine Ball is fundamentally an honest person. Not in the sense that she wouldn’t rob Cartier of a necklace worth a hundred and fifty million dollars, but in the sense that she tells people what she thinks of them and doesn’t lie to herself about her goals and her motivations. In line with this, she will say that it’s completely true that she agreed to hack into the Met Museum because Lou was the one who asked. Lou found her, Lou made her offer, and she said yes. Eighty percent of the reason was finding the job interesting. The other twenty was finding the woman herself interesting. 

Lou only intrigues her more and more as time goes by and they start getting to know one another better. Everyone thinks Debbie’s the dangerous, reckless one, but Nine Ball catches on pretty early that Lou’s the one to watch out for. Lou and her bike are spiritual twins - blazing down highways, craving the open road, at their best when revved up and raring to go. She knows what she wants and she goes for it. She’s wild and glorious and untamed and Nine Ball is half in love with her within a week. 

They spend a month working the prior planning for the heist. Their days are very, very packed, but Nine Ball spends all of that time nursing that thought in the back of her mind - wanting to fuck Lou. Really, _really_ wanting to fuck Lou. She doesn’t tend to sub for anyone but the idea of doing it for Lou turns her on like nothing else. After the heist, she promises herself. The moment they’re all completely cleared and all her money is in her account, she’s offering. 

 

 

It does not actually happen that way, mostly because fencing the stolen crown jewels understandably takes some time, so only a little over ten million makes it into her account when things first start blowing over. Five minutes after Nine Ball checks her account, Lou walks into her room wearing nothing but her bra and underwear, looking relieved and hungry. “Fucking finally. Now that we’re done with this heist, I really want to just fuck you until you cry. Come on, my room.” 

There will be no crying involved if Nine Ball has anything to say about it, but that doesn’t make it out of her mouth, because she just slams her laptop shut and is out into the corridor like a shot.

 

 

“Why your room, exactly?” 

“Hmm, kink negotiation,” Lou replies, locking her door behind the both of them. Her hair is already messy from the ferocious making out they were involved in en route from Nine Ball’s room to Lou’s, and Nine Ball can practically _feel_ her lipstick all over her face, to be honest. “How far will you go?”

“With you? Very,” Nine Ball quips back, but silently wonders how kinky Lou actually is. She’s had quite a few adventurous partners but with Lou, you never know. 

Lou leans against her wall, looking thoughtfully at Nine Ball, who discreetly casts her gaze around Lou’s room. She hasn’t been here before. It’s nice - organised, minimalist but still managing to be homely. “Very is subjective,” she says. “I like a lot of things. Scratching, biting… marking.” Okay, not too wild, Nine Ball isn’t sure why Lou’s concerned. “I like handcuffs. I like fire. I like bringing knives onto the bed and seeing blood. And honestly, all cards on the table? I would definitely not be opposed to you fucking me open with my gun.” 

Okay, _that_ is _definitely_ wilder than Nine Ball expected and also seriously fucking hot. She can feel herself flushing a little, eyes widening against her will and her skin heating up. “You picky about which hole I fuck open?” She hazards, trying to regain some control over this conversation, and Lou laughs, a little feral, a lot amused. “Please. You have no idea how many times I’ve taken it up my ass,” she says, and that’s when Nine Ball just about nearly fucking loses it entirely. 

“I am so fucking down for all of that,” she manages to grate out, already this close to gagging for it. Lou’s eyes light up, and she looks gloriously delighted, even a bit relieved, and the next thing Nine Ball knows, she’s got her back against the bed and Lou’s mouth all over her neck, sucking hard, her teeth sinking in wherever she can get enough purchase. Nine Ball slides her hands against Lou’s back, the skin smooth and perfect, and digs her nails in, dragging them upwards, slow and torturous. When she brings her hands away there are hints of blood under her nails and traces of broken skin, and Lou is moaning, so wet for it.

“Where’s your gun?” Nine Ball rasps, craving, yearning, not wanting to waste any time. Lou lifts her head immediately and straightens up, and Nine Ball lets herself take it in, the elegant stretch of her spine, the grace with which she moves to one of the locked cabinets. Takes out a pistol, gleaming and in good condition but obviously used for its actual purpose. 

“It’s clean. And unloaded, obviously,” Lou says, and Nine Ball trusts her, would trust her with anything. Would trust her with this, the way Lou spreads her legs and tugs her underwear off her and traces the muzzle of the pistol over Nine Ball’s abdomen, down the length of her legs, back up. “You done this before?”

“Fucked someone with a gun? No, gotta say I haven’t.” She likes the idea, though, likes it more and more as Lou runs the cold metal over her skin. Lou clicks her tongue. “You should probably feel what it’s like if you’re going to fuck me with it.”

“Yeah, okay, yes,” Nine Ball says, and Lou taps her sharply on the knee with the weapon. “This isn’t a joke, okay? You don’t fuck around when it comes to guns and sex. The moment something doesn’t feel right, the second you feel uncomfortable, you say something, I stop. No fucking around.”

Which feels… so oddly sweet and touching despite the subject matter of the situation, and makes Nine Ball feel so fucking _safe_ with Lou. She smiles to show she understands. “I got it.” 

“Good,” Lou replies, then gets back to business. She keeps her grip on the gun, her free hand reaching for the lube by her bedside to slick up her fingers, open Nine Ball up, starting with two fingers and adding more, slow and steady, until Nine Ball feels stretched and empty and needy, wanting more, wanting to be filled. Lou’s voice reaches her ears, soft and clear. “I’m going to use the gun now.”

“God, yes,” Nine Ball pants, and arches up against the cold hit of metal, such stark contrast to the wet heat between her legs. Lou does something artful with her wrist and then the muzzle of the pistol is sliding inside her, and _fuck,_ it’s _nothing_ that Nine Ball’s ever experienced, nothing could ever even come close. It aches and gnaws and burns the way she expected it would when taking something that was never meant to be inside her, but it also somehow feels impossibly, insanely good. Like the pain is so intense and foreign that it’s just firing off nothing but pleasure. 

She wants more of it inside her, but Lou doesn’t push deeper than an inch or two, and the tiny bit of her brain that’s still functioning as normal thinks that this is probably a sensible idea. Lou doesn’t fuck her for long with it either, just a couple of thrusts, and then she’s pulling the pistol out again and replacing it with her fingers once more. “How did that feel?”

“Um,” Nine Ball says, rather intelligently, but seriously, how does one react to being fucked with a pistol for the first time? “Felt weird. Like nothing I’ve ever felt before. But not _bad._ I enjoyed it.” 

“I could tell,” Lou murmurs, pressing a kiss above her navel. “Would you do it again? Fuck me with it this time? Imagine opening me up with your tongue and your fingers, sweetheart. Imagine fucking my ass with it.” Nine Ball nods, hard and determined and just a bit frantic, and Lou chuckles. “Yeah, I thought you would. But let’s save that for next time.” She stands, goes to place the gun on her desk. Nine Ball feels a wave of disappointment crest over her, but it’s quickly tamped down when Lou clicks open another drawer and brandishes a set of knives. “How are you with blood?”

Nine Ball licks her lips, the image of Lou straddling her and dragging the blade over her skin almost too much to handle. “I want to be dripping when you’re done with me.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Lou says, picking one of the knives and bringing it over to the bed. “Now, where should we start?” 


	19. debbie x lou - dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **groove_bunker** \- 'crew go out dancing, lou's wearing a strap-on under her suit + she  & debbie have public/semi-public sex after debbie realises while they're dancing'. 
> 
> me when i first saw this prompt: oh this is gonna be GOOD. lou gonna drag her off to some dark corner & fuck the shit outta debbie & talk dirty to her  
> my shit brain: but what if, instead, it was SOFT? 
> 
> tags: future fic, public sex, birthday sex, strap-ons, penetrative sex, porn with feelings, love confessions

Everyone on the team turns out to love clubbing. Even Daphne, who was born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth and associated clubbing with champagne and chandeliers and fancy costumes and shit until the first time they all went out together to some dingy shady underground place that Constance knew about, and she was stunned for all of two minutes, and then got more into it than half of the other girls. If someone suggests club night, the others are always up for it, no questions asked. When Debbie’s birthday arrives two months after the heist, Tammy surprises her by booking them the VIP section in a club that’s a little off-the-grid but gorgeous and exclusive, and they all jump for it. 

They arrive with expectations, and are not disappointed. The VIP section is beautiful, all plush leather and dim lighting, and the music is good. There are five bottles of various liquors on the table and Constance whoops when she sees them. “We’re getting wasted tonight, y’all!” The others cheer and yell along with her, and Daphne tosses her head in the direction of the dance floor. “If I don’t break a heel by the end of the night, we have wasted our time coming here. Let’s fucking go!”

Debbie regards all of them with amused glances as they push the curtain aside and exit the section. “It is _my_ birthday, right? Like, we’re here to celebrate me being a year older?”

Lou laughs, brushing her lips against Debbie’s forehead, quick and fond. “Let them have this. We can just sit here, and drink, and contemplate our mortality like you want.” Debbie glares at her, and Lou grins back, unrepentant. “I’m serious!” 

“Shut up,” Debbie grumbles, pouring herself another gin and tonic. “All right, all right, they can go and jump around and get sweaty. We’ll join them after another drink.”

“Or,” Lou breaks in, getting up and reaching out one hand in exaggerated gallantry. “You could slow dance with me, in here.”

“Slow dance to _Avicii,”_ Debbie says drily, but takes Lou’s hand anyway. Lou’s still grinning. “Anything’s possible, you just have to try. Come on, I’ll lead.” 

She does lead, and pretty skilfully, even if they ignore the music more than follow it. Lou’s a good dancer, always has been even though she never trained professionally or anything, and Debbie slips into the rhythm of it, losing herself in the way Lou spins her, guides her, pulls her in. It’s nice, and she’s slipping into the hazy warmth of it when Lou brings her close - really close, chest to chest, and suddenly she’s completely alert, because wait a second, holy fucking shit - 

“Lou,” Debbie says, very slowly, stopping both of them in mid-step. “Lou. Are you _packing?”_

“Mm, you finally noticed,” Lou replies, her eyes shining and her lips wet. “You like it so much when I wear it, I thought I’d surprise you with it. Since it’s your birthday after all.” 

“Oh my god,” Debbie hisses, because she’s already beginning to feel turned on as _fuck_ but she can’t believe Lou’s audacity. “I can’t believe you wore a strap-on to the fucking club!”

“If you can’t believe that, the rest of this idea is going to blow your mind,” Lou answers. “Because I was thinking I could sit back on this couch and you could ride me until you came while the girls were out dancing.” 

Okay, this is certifiably insane, even if Debbie’s already imagining it and her primitive brain is screaming for her to get the fuck on board. “Are you out of your mind? There are, like, a hundred people outside and the girls could come in any time!” 

“They won’t,” Lou says, sounding so confident, so sure. She grabs Debbie’s hand and slides her palm against the curve of the strap-on under her pants. “Come on. We used to do this all the time when we were younger, right? Fuck in places where we could get caught, riding on the thrill of it, the fear. We haven’t done that in a long time.”

There’s so much more to that statement than just what Lou’s saying, and it hurts, a little, but it’s also seeping with truth, and Debbie knows this was inevitable from the moment she realised what was happening. Lou lets go of her hand and Debbie doesn’t move it, just presses her fingers against the toy through the fabric. “Happy birthday to me, I guess.” 

“Exactly,” Lou murmurs, dropping back onto the sofa and hooking her fingers past the waistband of her pants, pulling them down to reveal her harness, the thick length of the toy attached to it. “Come on, Debbie. What are you waiting for?” 

She’s thankful she wore a dress, thankful that she can just straddle Lou’s thighs and push the dress up to her waist. Lou pulls her underwear to the side and Debbie slides onto the strap-on with one smooth stroke, sinking onto it so it’s buried all the way inside her, so she’s seated snugly on Lou’s lap. If anyone walked in at that moment, it might actually look innocent enough at first glance. 

Then Debbie lifts herself up, just a little, so the strap-on slides back out of her, glistening under the dim lighting with her wetness. Drops back down onto it with a soft gasp as it hits all the right spots. Lou doesn’t do anything, just rests her hands on Debbie’s thighs and watches hungrily as Debbie fucks herself on the toy, works herself to her orgasm, because it’s not about her. It’s about Debbie’s pleasure, Debbie’s enjoyment, because that’s also her pleasure, and it’s enough. 

“I love it when you wear this,” Debbie says, settling into a comfortable rhythm, canting her hips against Lou’s. “I love having your cock inside me like this. Filling me. Making me come.” 

“I love you,” Lou replies, unthinking, unflinching, because she does. It slips out the way it hasn’t in _years,_ in the VIP section of an underground club on Debbie’s birthday, two months after the greatest heist in their lives, with Debbie riding her cock, and it’s laughable how inappropriate that should be, but _god,_ Lou means it, with every inch of her. She loves Debbie, has always loved Debbie, would bring the moon down for her. Anything. 

Debbie stops moving, and even in the darkness of the room Lou can see the tears beginning to well in her eyes. “You do?”

“Of course I do, Deb, god.” She cups Debbie’s face in her hands, kissing her, again and again. “I love you so much. Always.” 

Debbie smiles, a bit wet and wan, and the movement of her hips slows to a gentle rock as she presses her forehead to Lou’s. “I love you too.” She puts her arms around Lou’s neck and opens her mouth against Lou’s, kissing her, unhurried, fervent, perfect. They keep kissing through Debbie’s orgasm, intense and consuming, and after, wrapped in each other’s arms. 

“Best birthday ever,” Debbie declares, not making a move to slide off the strap-on, and Lou doesn’t bother urging her either, just smiles against her lips. “Bet you I can top this next year. And the year after. And again after that.” 

“Forever?” Debbie asks, her voice wavering, just a bit although she tries so hard to hide it. Lou tangles her fingers in Debbie’s long hair, kissing her one last time. “Forever.” 


	20. daphne x rose - comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: missing scene, not canon compliant, comfort sex, oral sex, 69, porn with feelings

Just one week before the Met Gala, three hours before the Toussaint is delivered to Daphne’s suite and she gets to see it for the very first time, Rose finds herself standing in the doorway to the bathroom after walking in on Daphne crying on the toilet. It’s awkward, to say the least. She just stops dead and makes a pathetic apologetic noise of sorts, and begins to backtrack the fuck out of there.

Daphne doesn’t stop her, which, ironically, is actually what gives Rose pause and gets her to return to where she was, then step in closer, very cautiously, telegraphing each movement before she actually moves in case Daphne doesn’t actually want her there. She makes it all the way to Daphne’s side, where she’s still sobbing into her hands. It’s not the panicked, anxiety-induced dry heaving Rose remembers from when she was trying on the safety-pin necklace - it’s actual, full-blown, proper crying jag sort of crying. 

“Daphne?” Rose tries, putting an arm around her very gently. “Daphne, what happened?” No response, but for more unelegant sniffling. Rose sighs. “All right, you don’t need to tell me, but let’s get you out of the bathroom, shall we? It can’t be very comfortable perched on the toilet.” 

Daphne doesn’t protest, just leans into Rose as she pulls her up and helps her out of the bathroom back to her bed. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are stained and she holds on to Rose’s wrist very tight, and they both just sit on her bed for a good ten minutes while Daphne lets it all out and Rose pats her soothingly on the back.

Eventually - _eventually_ \- some calm seems to return, and Daphne manages to clear her throat and speak. “Sorry. And thank you.” 

“It’s alright,” Rose replies, meaning it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Daphne reaches for her phone and tosses it over to Rose. “Read that.” 

Rose reads it. It’s a transcript of an interview with Penelope Stern, where some awful journalist makes snippy comments about Daphne’s performance in her worst-rated movie and Penelope takes that tangent and runs away with it. It’s not very nice, to say the least, but it doesn’t seem to warrant Daphne breaking down in a bathroom. 

“She was my best friend once,” Daphne blurts out, and oh, okay, that makes more sense now. “We knew each other in school and we both wanted to be actors. And we did so many things together, and tried out for parts together, and I got my big break first but I would never leave her behind, and I didn’t. I shared everything with her, I tried to drop her name with people on set, but the second she got her break too she left, and now…” She breaks off, and for a hot second Rose is very afraid the crying will begin again. She tries to stave it off by wrapping her arms around Daphne, then cupping her chin with one hand. “Daphne, love, you didn’t deserve that, and you’re so much better than that. Everything she’s saying about you now speaks more about her than it ever will about you.” She sighs, because much as Daphne and the others might not believe it, she gets this. She understands how this feels, to trust someone and have them betray you and not lose anything tangible for it but still hurt. “It’s okay to be angry, and to be sad, and to still want your friendship back. But remember you don’t owe her anything, and it wasn’t your fault, and you’re a lovely person and you deserve better.”

Daphne is silent for a long minute, her head resting on Rose’s shoulder and her eyes closed, with Rose’s hand still stroking down her back. Finally she opens her eyes again and looks up, right into Rose’s face. “Thank you,” she repeats, but softer this time, more vulnerable, more genuine, shields down, and leans in, one palm against Rose’s cheek, and kisses her. 

Which is _definitely_ not something Rose sees coming, and she’s so taken by surprise for a second she doesn’t kiss back, but Daphne’s mouth moves against hers and her next instinct is to respond, to pull Daphne in closer and deepen the kiss. Daphne melts into her, hands on Rose’s thighs and moaning into her mouth. 

After the instinct has passed and Daphne draws back, hands already at the hem of her silk shirt, ready to take it off. Rose clamps one hand against hers, because she was literally bawling on the toilet not ten minutes ago and Rose isn’t sure that this is an entirely good idea, isn’t sure if Daphne actually wants this or she just wants to feel good, to shake off the lingering sadness. “Daphne, are you sure - “

“God, yes,” Daphne cuts her off, leaning in to kiss her again, but Rose stops her with a firm palm against her shoulder. “Daphne. If you’re just doing this because you’re sad, you shouldn’t. Trust me.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, and okay, fair enough, that seems like the Daphne that Rose has come to know over the weeks of working on her dress. “I’m not stupid, okay, and I’m not a child,” she says, fierce and determined. “I know what I want. I’ve known what I want since we first met. It isn’t just about Penelope or what the fuck ever. I wanted you before you found me crying in a toilet and I still want you now.” She punctuates this with another kiss this time, with her hands on Rose’s knees pushing her dress up, and Rose is helpless to disagree. 

“You’re so wet,” Daphne says, matter-of-fact but her eyes sparkling, a little covetous, cupping the mound of Rose’s cunt with one hand, the other sliding up her shirt to toy with her own nipple, tossing her head back to expose that gorgeous neck, her sigh deep and longing. “I could _drink_ from you right now.”

“Please,” Rose replies, cannot imagine a more perfect idea. Daphne laughs and pushes her into the bed, writhing her way over Rose’s body so she’s on top of her, Rose’s head between her legs and vice versa. Her legs are long, lithe, striking, and Rose catches herself admiring them before Daphne taps her lightly on her calf. “Come on, I need - need your mouth on me, please.” She follows up by doing the same, sliding her tongue against the hot seam of her, and Rose thinks Daphne might be overestimating her ability to multitask, because _wow._ With an effort, she parts Daphne with two fingers, then presses her tongue inside her, and Daphne gasps, jerking a little and her pace stuttering erratically. 

“Rose,” she breathes, petering off into a moan, rocking her hips against Rose's face. With growing confidence Rose licks into her, delving into Daphne's wet heat, and Daphne's voice breaks on her moan. “Fuck, oh my god, fuck, Rose, Rose, shit.” When she comes it’s loud and messy, all over Rose’s mouth and chin and her own thighs, giddy with it. Rose is on the edge of it, so close, and Daphne goes back to her task with renewed vigour, her tongue a constant and amazing pressure against Rose’s clit, and Rose comes for her, quivering with it. 

For another minute, there’s no sound in the suite but for their rapid breathing, and Daphne shuffling off her to flop back onto the sheets beside Rose, curling up by her side with her head pillowed on Rose’s chest just under her breasts. “God, that was amazing.” 

It was indeed amazing and nothing Rose ever expected or prepared for and she wonders how she’s ever going to tell the other girls about it, if she ever does. She finds her hand back on Daphne’s back and tracing patterns down her spine before she realises what she’s doing. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” Daphne answers, her breath warm against Rose’s skin. “Nobody’s ever made me feel like that before.” She snuggles closer, and for a moment she looks so young, so somehow innocent, so purely happy. “I want to stay here forever.”

Rose cards her fingers through Daphne’s long hair, thinks about the upcoming Met Gala, thinks about how the seven of them are going to take the Toussaint off Daphne’s neck and scarper and she might never see this girl again, never lie in her bed again. Her heart clenches, a little - but the Gala is still a week away, and the Toussaint’s arriving in a couple hours, and maybe, just for right now, she can think about the idea of forever.  


	21. debbie x lou - so married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **emkat97** \- 'if you're still taking requests, i'd love some deb/lou honeymoon sex'. obviously this one got Sappy AF. hope you enjoy it!
> 
> thank you **abbigail** for your comment! you are absolutely right  & i should have made it very clear that the wake up sex that occurs in this chapter is consensual. everything i write for this entire fic should be understood to be between **fully consenting partners** unless it is ever stated otherwise (which is not likely). in the context of this chapter, at some point in the past debbie  & lou would've talked about this & both agreed about it, which isn't shown in the fic but was imagined to be the case when writing it. to everyone reading this chapter, this is an important part of consent! thank you again for your comment & i apologise for not making it clear to begin with! 
> 
> tags: future fic, humour, established relationship, honeymoon sex, lazy/sleepy sex, consensual wake up sex, oral sex, fingering, porn with SO MANY FEELINGS, CUTENESS, #SOMARRIED

All things considered, both the proposal and the wedding are extremely understated. Lou’s never been one for grand gestures and Debbie is the furthest thing from romantic - Lou absolutely loves telling the story of how Debbie asked her to prom by cornering her outside the school gates, then handing her a cigarette and thirty dollars to buy a corsage. With this in mind, it’s a miracle that Debbie manages to orchestrate a proposal that actually brings tears to Lou’s eyes - taking her up to the roof of their place, giving a short but sincere speech, proferring the ring. There’s a lot of unglamorous sniffling and the girls clap and cheer, and immediately take charge of planning the wedding. 

“We don’t want anything too wild, okay?” Debbie warns them, looking warily around the room. “Literally the only people attending will be the six of you and the priest. No gigantic location. No gaudy dresses. No ridiculous bouquet.” 

“I don’t mind going in jeans,” Lou offers. Rose whips her glare towards Lou and actually _hisses,_ scathing enough to make Lou take two steps back. “You will wear _jeans_ to your own _wedding_ over my dead, rotting body.”

The others nod in agreement. “Violent, but accurate,” Daphne comments, paging through travel guides. “Now, would you two rather an adventurous honeymoon or a romantic one focusing on the sex?”

“Okay, this was a mistake, letting all of you get involved,” Debbie says. “Hand over all the materials. Hand them over.”

“Too late,” Nine Ball laughs. “Daphne, go with the sex one.”

 

 

Two months later (and one week after the wedding), they find themselves in the penthouse suite of a _very_ exclusive five-star hotel and are not _completely_ sure how they got there. Something along the lines of waking up and finding two suitcases at the foot of their bed and plane tickets in their pockets and the house suspiciously quiet. Also Constance pretending to be an Uber driver. 

“I’m surprised I didn’t find one of them flying the plane,” Lou says drily, taking in the admittedly very luxurious room. “I suppose this is what you get from people who managed to pull off the most audacious jewellery heist in recent history.” 

“It is a very nice room,” Debbie concedes, sliding her stole off her shoulders and draping it over one of the armchairs. “And the bed looks very, very comfortable.”

Lou groans, flopping inelegantly onto said bed, burying her face into it. “Don’t even start. I’m too jet-lagged to even take off my own pants, let alone yours. Let me sleep for twelve hours and then we can think about doing this whole honeymoon thing properly.”

Debbie laughs fondly, watching Lou curl up under the sheets and yawn deeply. She doesn’t bother removing her clothes, and neither does Debbie, who makes her way over to the bed a bit more gracefully and slides in beside her wife. _Wife._ Debbie rolls the word silently over her tongue and feels her heart grow three sizes. Lou’s lying beside her, in what feels like a million thread-count bed in a gorgeous suite in the middle of Bora Bora, her eyes closed and her blonde hair fanned out against the pillow. She’s so beautiful, and so smart, and so brilliant, and Debbie still can’t believe she gets to be with her forever. Can’t believe she got lucky, after everything she did in her life. She cards her fingers gently through Lou’s hair, pressing her lips to Lou’s forehead. “I love you.”

“Mmf,” Lou replies unemotionally and doesn’t open her eyes, but tips her head back a little so she can meet Debbie’s lips with her own. “Love y’too. Now go to sleep.”

Debbie wraps her arms around Lou, and they don’t actually go to sleep right that second, just keep making out for another five minutes, lazy and idyllic and wonderful. Debbie catalogues the soft, wet sounds of Lou’s mouth moving over hers, wanting to bury them deep inside her heart, never let go.

 

 

She nods off eventually, tired out from the flight, and blessedly passes out into a deep, sweet sleep. It’s hours later, with the sun having set and moonlight streaming in through the windows, when Debbie wakes up to cresting pleasure between her thighs, the feeling of someone’s mouth on her. It takes another five seconds to really wake herself up despite it, rubbing the bleariness out of her eyes, and focuses on Lou lying between her spread legs. Once she takes it in, she drops her head back on the pillow and sighs, lets herself enjoy it, the feeling of Lou getting her off with her mouth, orgasming against the flat of her tongue working against her. 

Lou looks up with a grin when Debbie finally comes, her mouth and chin gleaming wet. “Sleeping Beauty finally awake? I was at it for five minutes. At _least.”_  

“Excuse me, you were the one who collapsed on the bed when we got here,” Debbie says, but reaches down to tangle her fingers in Lou’s hair, tugging lightly. “If this is how I’m going to wake up every morning, I’ll say it was the right idea to marry you.” 

Lou rolls her eyes, punctuating it with another slow, lingering lick across the seam of Debbie’s cunt. “In your dreams. This is to herald the first day of our honeymoon, don’t get used to it. I’m not waking up before you do every morning.” 

“Lazy girl,” Debbie replies, voice teasing and fond. Lou snorts. “You get up at seven to go out for runs. _Runs._ Who wants to _jog_ when you could ride?” 

“Who wants to talk when you could fuck?” Debbie tosses back, cupping Lou’s chin and bringing Lou up against her, pulling her close for a kiss. Her fingers skim down Lou’s bare chest, stomach, over her clit, finding her wet. She eases them inside Lou, closes her eyes and luxuriates in the hitch of Lou’s breath, her pleased sigh, the slight undulation of her hips against Debbie’s hand. “You look beautiful when you do that,” Debbie says softly, her gaze fixed on Lou’s face, riveted by the way Lou’s mouth falls open, her eyes closed, cheeks flushed. She’s so gorgeous, and Debbie loves her so much. 

Lou opens her eyes just the slightest so she can look back at Debbie. “I thought about you every day while you were in jail.”

 _Me too,_ Debbie wants to say, but Lou doesn’t stop there. “I always told myself our lives weren’t suited for commitment, but then you got thrown in the slammer and I realised - I realised that wasn’t true, because I’d already committed myself to you for years by then, just in a guise nobody recognised.” She swallows hard, her throat bobbing, still rocking onto Debbie’s fingers. “I had it all planned out. I was going to pick you up from jail, and drive you to our place, and get on one knee. And you ruined that, in the best way possible, and we still made it here.” She presses her forehead against Debbie’s, and she’s smiling now. “I think we’d always have made it here, however our lives panned out. You and me, together.” 

Debbie doesn’t even realise she’s stopped moving, stopped breathing, the tears falling, until Lou opens her eyes proper. “Why’d you stop?” She asks in a slight whine, then her eyes widen when she sees Debbie’s face. “Debbie? Shit, are you crying? Deb, what did I say?” 

“You were going to propose? The day I got out?” Debbie’s throat is choked up, her vision blurry from tears. Lou’s expression softens, and she eases Debbie’s fingers out of her, then places her palms on either side of Debbie’s face, kissing her gently. “Yeah, and then you came to me with an incredible plan for an incredible heist, and we pulled it off, and I got to be proposed to instead, and it was the best day of my life.” 

Debbie is suddenly very, very glad they are alone together in a foreign country, because she’s now sitting on the bed a blubbering mess completely unfit for an Ocean, and Lou’s straddling her and kissing her softly, over and over again, whispering to her, telling her it’s okay. It’s another good five minutes before she can pull herself together to even craft a sentence. “I’m so lucky,” she says wetly. “I’m so lucky I got you. I’m so lucky you said yes, and I’m married to you.” 

“Oh, baby, me too,” Lou murmurs. “I love you so much.” She cocks her head and tries for a smirk, tries to lighten the mood. “Would love you even more if you finished what you started.” 

Debbie chokes out a laugh, shaking her head. “God, you’re hopeless,” she says, but without any heat in it, bringing her hand back down between Lou’s legs and sliding two fingers back inside her, keeping her eyes locked on Lou’s face. Lou tightens her grip around Debbie, breaths getting sharper and faster. She shudders out this soft, sweet moan when she comes, trembling and so different from her calm, composed usual self, and Debbie thinks about how she’s going to get to hear that for the rest of her life, only her, and it’s wonderful. 

When Lou catches her breath and Debbie’s finally able to stop gazing at her like a lovestruck idiot, she grins smugly. “I can’t wait to tell the girls I made you cry during sex.”

Debbie narrows her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“I fucked Debbie until she cried, everybody,” Lou sing-songs playfully, and Debbie smacks her ass lightly. “That isn’t even true. That’s a blatant lie. You said something incredibly lovey-dovey, don’t think I won’t tell them about that - “

Lou laughs, pressing her face against the curve of Debbie’s neck. “Yeah, and you cried, you big sap,” she teases, then squeals and tries to wriggle out of Debbie’s grip when Debbie pokes her in the ribs, shoving Debbie lightly by the shoulders. Debbie laughs along with her, stealing kisses while wrestling her back onto the bed, and aches with how happy she is, how lucky, to be here, at the beginning of the rest of her life.


	22. constance x nine ball - dirty pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: future fic, semi-public sex, penetrative sex (using INAPPROPRIATE objects DON'T try this at home EVER)

Six months after the Toussaint heist, Constance hits three million followers on Instagram and just over a million subscribers on YouTube. Not because of the heist, obviously, but she can’t deny that she’s seen a huge uptick in attention after thirty mil came into her possession and she spent some of it on a sweet apartment and nice clothes. It also helps that some of the other girls got on Instagram too and they give each other pretty sick publitz when necessary. She’s got a story highlight devoted to all of Daphne’s new projects, and another one for Rose and her collections, and another one for the happy hour promotions at Lou’s club. She’s on their Instagrams too, so it all kind of circles back. People start asking for collabs - she’ll Insta-live herself at Tammy’s place playing with her kids, and people will clamour for her to do a YouTube video of them playing some fun game or something. 

It’s an interesting idea, when she actually gets to really thinking about it, and when Nine Ball announces the grand opening of her snooker place, Constance jumps for it. Nine Ball’s on her social media the least because she prefers flying under the radar, for reasons evident, but she’s got that mysterious hot chick vibe to her and quite a lot of Constance’s viewers are interested. She swings the idea past her - a scheduled Insta-live at the grand opening to draw customers in. Nine Ball thinks about it, shrugs, agrees. “If you want, you can come a day early too. Do some behind-the-scenes video advertising or whatever that shit is.” 

Which sounds, like, the perfect idea. So Constance goes, with iPhone in hand and all, with zero suspicions, because why would she have any, right? It’s just supposed to be publitz, and for a good hour it just is. Constance greets the camera - and about a thousand initial viewers - and pans it around the interior of the snooker place, ending on Nine Ball, who gives a small wave. “Hey, y’all! So we’re here at Nine Ball’s, which, as you guys should know if you’ve been watching, is opening tomorrow…” 

And it’s perfectly fine, and normal, and fun, until it’s not.

 

 

“… and in this corner we’ve got, oh wow, shit. Are these mini versions of the tables?” Constance squeals and bends down a little so she can show the camera how tiny the mini-tables are. “Oh, and they’ve got mini versions of the billiard balls! And the cues! That’s so cute!”

“They’re for kids,” Nine Ball explains, gesturing to the tables and then to the camera. “A lot of dedicated snooker places are in kinda shady places and not that accessible to the little ones. Which is why I opened this place here, in the centre of the city, and why I don’t serve alcohol, and why I’ve got these, you know, because this is a sport, and sports shouldn’t just be for adults. I want kids and youths to feel welcome here too.” 

“Right, that is so right,” Constance nods in firm agreement, turning back to her camera. “You guys hear that? Nine Ball’s is open to _everybody,_ so don’t be shy, come on down tomorrow at 8PM, check out my latest post for details, and we’ll see you there.” She waves and ends the live video, then leans back against the counter, sighing and grinning. “Fuckin’ sweet. Let’s hope this place gets mobbed tomorrow.” 

Nine Ball doesn’t reply, and Constance turns to see her idly playing with the kid-sized cues, smiling at her with that look in her eye that means either very, very good things or very, very bad ones. “These cues aren’t just useful for kids, you know. They’ve got… other very interesting purposes.”

It takes Constance a second for the penny to drop, and then she straightens up, staring at Nine Ball and speaking flatly. “Are you fucking kidding me.” 

“What?” Nine Ball opens her eyes very wide, playing the innocent, which is fooling absolutely nobody. Constance cannot _believe_ she was tricked into this. “You invited me here for _sex?”_

“Who said anything about sex?” Nine Ball replies, still wide-eyed, like she isn’t already wielding the cue like she wants to fuck it inside Constance like she would a fucking dildo. Not that Constance _minds_ per se, because she would totally bang the hell out of anyone on the team, but seriously, this is ridiculous. “You’re incorrigible. I swear. I prepped for an entire Insta-live - you could have just _asked.”_

Nine Ball finally drops the act (but not the cue), laughing and striding over to Constance. “But where would be the fun in that? Come on,” she coaxes, tilting her head in the direction of the most ostentatious decorative pool table right in the middle of the place. “I wanna see if you can come with my mouth on your tits and this cue up your cunt.” 

Constance’s jaw drops, because first of all, _WHAT,_ and second of all, holy fucking shit, that sounded incredibly hot just coming out of Nine Ball’s mouth so she cannot even begin to imagine how much hotter it’ll be actually doing it. “You _literally_ just said this place will be open and accessible to everyone. Kid friendly! That is not kid friendly!” 

“We’re not open yet, so I can do what I want. Come on.” She smirks, already standing by said table with her hip checked against it, gaze still trained on Constance. “Unless you don’t want it.”

“I want it,” Constance says, before she can stop herself, because sue her, she does, okay? She steps into Nine Ball’s circle and Nine Ball reaches for her collar, tugs her close, kisses her once - hot and violent and passionate - then pushes her against the table, until she’s lying backfirst on it looking up. Nine Ball’s hands slide under her shirt, getting it off her, tossing it on the floor without a thought. Her pants go about the same way, and suddenly she’s naked on a gilded pool table in the middle of one of the busiest streets in New York with Nine Ball standing between her legs, her hands sliding up Constance’s sides and her mouth tracing a line down from her throat. 

The second her lips seal around one of Constance’s exposed nipples, the cue in Nine Ball’s hands is between her thighs, and Constance’s throat bobs as she swallows hard, just thinking about it. “You’re not going to - I mean, it’s _long._ Not as long as the proper cues, but - “

“Yeah, of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” Nine Ball says fondly. “Just gonna slide it inside you, just a little bit,” and she does, and Constance’s hips arch, because _oh,_ that’s new, that’s a little weird, that’s very very different from fingers and tongues and toys but _wow,_ interesting. And Nine Ball does it so gently, so carefully, and mouth doesn’t stop what it’s doing against the swell of Constance’s breasts, and _wow, okay, good, so good, don’t stop._

“Wasn’t planning to,” Nine Ball says laughingly, and Constance groans as she realises she said that out loud. “Your tongue, holy fuck,” she replies, and doesn’t get much further than that because Nine Ball does something tricky with her wrist and Constance’s entire world explodes into this vision of white as she comes like a fucking freight train. 

“That - was - dirty - pool,” she enunciates, her nails digging into the Worsted cloth under her back. “And it’s made me now want to lick you until you come a thousand times.”

“Well, it’s still early into the night,” NIne Ball agrees, then works her jeans off to reveal lace and silk and fucking _garters._ “Come get it.”

“Dirty pool,” Constance repeats, and goes.


	23. daphne x lou - leather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'lou/daphne. daphne goes to lou's bar, sees lou has a leather jacket, they have sex in lou's office with daphne bent over lou's desk + lou wearing the jacket while she fucks daphne'. 
> 
> tags: semi-public sex, club sex, office sex, enthusiastic consent, top lou, bottom daphne, dirty talk, consensual degrader/degradee, fingering, daphne kluger is loud in metaphorical bed, she also has a leather kink tbh

It starts, like all great stories do, with a game of Never Have I Ever. It’s Debbie’s idea - criminal tendencies and whatnot, she likes knowing as much as she can about her teammates without having to interrogate them. This is far easier and also far more fun. Everyone’s down about four shots on average and getting drunker, the atmosphere is light, when Daphne’s turn comes around.

“Um, okay,” she says, biting her lip and thinking hard. “Okay, never have I ever gone clubbing on my own accord.” 

Nobody drinks, choosing instead to stare at her in complete and utter amazement. Amita’s the first one who manages to find her voice again, still blinking in shock. “You - have - never - gone clubbing?” 

“No,” Daphne says, looking around at all of them. “You know, actually, I’m not surprised that all of you have. This was a stupid Never Have I Ever in hindsight.” 

“How have _you_ never gone clubbing?” Constance demands. “You’ve been in showbiz all your life!” 

Daphne gives her a look. “Uh, yeah, exactly. When you’re the only child of two Hollywood divas, you don’t really get a lot of room to do what you want or be who you want to be. And by the time I was eighteen I was already rising in the industry, and I had people watching me like hawks all the time and making sure I never did anything stupid and end up on TMZ.” 

The silence returns, this time feeling more sympathetic than shocked. Lou cocks her head, looking appraisingly at Daphne. “Daphne, do you _want_ to go clubbing?”

“Well, duh. I want to at least know what it’s _like._ I’ve filmed clubbing scenes before but I’m pretty fuckin’ sure that’s not the same. But the finished product always looks so fun on the big screen and I want to experience that.” 

“Alright,” Lou says, clapping her hands decidedly. “We’re going to my club. Tomorrow night. All of you are going to introduce Daphne to the trials and tribulations of clubbing.”

“No watered down vodka,” Debbie warns. Lou snorts. “Please. For you guys, only the best.”

 

 

So they go, and Lou ushers them into the reserved section, and puts a bottle of Macallan in front of them amongst other things, and it’s lit and everyone is partying it up, and not an hour in Daphne has firmly decided that she wasn’t missing much for the last twenty-five years. She sits at the VIP section alone while everyone else is out tearing the floor up, sipping on Veuve and trying to hear herself think over the pounding bass.

“Hey,” someone says - yells, really - and Daphne looks up to see Lou entering the section, looking concerned. “Not liking the vibe?”

Daphne doesn’t respond, can’t really rub two brain cells together at that moment, because _holy shit,_ Lou is wearing different clothes. She was in a really casual getup when she got to the club and she must have had her work clothes in her office or something, because now she’s wearing hot pants and a really tight, low-cut shirt and most importantly, an actual, honest-to-god leather jacket. She just sits there staring at Lou with her mouth open for a good five seconds, because _holy fucking shit._

“Daphne,” Lou repeats, even louder this time. “You okay?”

Daphne finally snaps herself out of it, cheeks burning. “It’s very loud, and I’m not a dancer,” she shouts back. “I think clubbing isn’t for me.”

Lou chuckles, reaching out her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you to my office. It’s quieter.”

“How about the others?” Daphne asks, but is already taking Lou’s hand, following her out. “Don’t worry. They’ll handle themselves fine.” 

Not that Daphne is particularly concerned right now, because Lou is leading her down a couple corridors and then into this small room, organised and minimalist, and when she shuts the door, the thudding of the music outside is immediately dulled. Daphne heaves a sigh of relief. “Okay, no offense, but if this is what clubbing is like, I really don’t think I missed much.” 

“None taken,” Lou says, easy smile on her lips as she makes her way over to an understated cabinet. “More Veuve?”

“God, yes.” Daphne perches on one corner the huge desk near the back wall of the office, the marble tabletop clear of most things other than some pens and paper. “You don’t spend a lot of time here, huh?”

“Not recently. Been preoccupied.” She gives Daphne a comradely wink and brings out another bottle of champagne, pouring Daphne a glass and clinking it to her own. “But it’s nice when I need to get away from the noise, quiet and private. I don’t let many people in here.”

Which, of course, makes Daphne flush again, the blood rushing in her ears and her neck prickling. Lou leans against the desk beside her, hip checked against it, sipping from her glass with her eyes trained on Daphne. Daphne racks her brain for something intelligent and safe to say. 

“Your leather jacket is really nice,” is apparently what her dumbass brain decides to settle on. She’s actually going to shoot herself in the face. She regrets the words the _moment_ they leave her mouth, and groans. “I mean, fuck, I didn’t mean to say that.” 

“No?” Lou answers, and Daphne hears something shift in her tone of voice. Going from light and playful to a little lower, a little darker, a _lot_ more sultry. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t mean,” Daphne starts weakly, but Lou’s already putting her glass down and leaning in closer, inch by inch. “Or do you like seeing me _in_ it?” 

Daphne swallows hard and throws caution to the wind. “Yeah,” she says quietly, lifting her chin and keeping her eyes locked on Lou’s, unashamed. “You look good.” 

Lou laughs softly, moves to stand in front of Daphne. Her hands come to rest on Daphne’s knees and part her legs, and she steps forward until she’s between them, almost towering over Daphne. “You look good, too.” She brings her lips against Daphne’s ear. “But you’d look even better naked on my desk.” 

Daphne, god forbid anyone ever know about it, lets out a pathetic mewl and leans up, in, capturing Lou’s mouth in a feverish kiss. Lou responds with enthusiasm, and Daphne can feel the low rumble of Lou’s possessive, delighted snarl in her chest. “Is this what you want?” Lou growls, nipping lightly at her bottom lip. “You want me in my leather jacket, bending you over my table in the middle of my club, fucking you until you scream?”

This is how Daphne dies, she’s pretty sure of it. She just whimpers and pushes her hips forward, against the crotch of those gorgeous, tight pants, crying out for contact. Lou doesn’t move, looking Daphne hard in the eye. “Is that what you want? I need to hear you say yes, Daphne.”

“Yes, god, yes, please, please, just fuck me,” Daphne moans, and lets herself be manhandled. Lets Lou drag her away from the desk with one hand around her waist, then push her back against it, face-first this time. Her dress is short, a little sheer, and she feels Lou palm the swell of her ass, her fingernails digging lightly into the flesh. “Such a slut,” Lou murmurs, one finger sliding past the waistband of her underwear. “So ready to open your legs for me.”

Daphne presses her forehead against the cool marble, willing herself not to scream. “Again.”

“Hm?” Lou says, dragging the fabric down Daphne’s legs agonisingly slowly. Daphne chokes out the words, dizzy with arousal. “Say it again.”

She swears she can _hear_ Lou smile. “That you’re a slut?” Daphne can feel Lou’s fingertip tracing against the length of her leg as her underwear slides off her ankles, tossed to the side. “That you’re a pretty little whore, dripping for me, bent over my desk and begging for my mouth on your cunt?” 

“Lou,” Daphne slurs, already drunk on it even though Lou’s barely touched her, just the pad of one finger resting against Daphne’s clit. Lou doesn't respond, doesn't move, only lets the order roll off her tongue. “I want you to beg for it.” 

Daphne doesn’t even hesitate, the words slipping out of her mouth, and she can’t stop, can barely breathe. “Please, please, need you inside me, I need it, I need, fuck me, fuck me, Lou, fuck me, I want it, please, I want it.” 

“I never thought you would be such a good girl,” Lou purrs, fingers dipping down, just the slightest. “Or that you would be so desperate. So needy. Begging for me to fuck you. It’s okay, sweetheart,” she continues. “I’m going to give you what you need.” 

Her movements are lightning-quick, and Daphne’s still struggling to draw a breath when Lou plunges inside her, three fingers at one go, a sudden intrusion, and she seizes up, the sensation of being filled sending shockwaves down her spine. Lou twists and curls her fingers inside her, against that sweet spot and Daphne actually lets out a wail, shivering and shaking against the tabletop, gulping for air as the tears stream down her face. Waves of pure pleasure crest over her, again and again, and it’s nothing she’s ever experienced before. She’s pretty sure her eyes roll back into her head and she whites out for a bit when she comes, trembling and scrabbling against the desk. 

Lou slides her fingers out, slowly, and even amidst the haze Daphne can hear soft sucking sounds. When she turns her head back she sees Lou licking the taste of her off her own fingers, and the sight of it is enough to get her wet again. 

“So fucking sexy,” Lou says, taking her fingers out of her mouth. “Laid out there like that. Taking it so good.” She looks at Daphne like she _wants_ Daphne, really wants her, really sees her. A greedy, possessive look that makes Daphne ready and willing to give Lou anything she wants, get on her knees for her, spread her legs for her, whenever and wherever she wants it. 

Then Lou’s going over to the couch where she tossed Daphne’s underwear, handing it back to her. “Come on, we should go get the girls.”

Disappointment washes through Daphne, clear and cold. “What?”

“Let’s call it a night, go home,” Lou says, the words laden heavy with innuendo, and _oh_ \- home, to the privacy behind their front door, to either of their bedrooms. Yeah, okay. Daphne nods, smoothing her dress out as best as she can and running her fingers through her hair. “Okay, yeah, let’s do that.”

Lou leads her out of the door, shuts the lights off, makes her way through the corridors again back to the club. Her hand stays firmly wrapped around Daphne’s waist the entire time, even when they fetch the girls, and Daphne leans into it, revels in it, in the promise of more, and maybe of beyond just tonight. 


	24. lou x tammy - arrogant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **hilyn** \- 'can we have lou/tammy' + **thatlilshitloui** \- 'i am so down for some more sub lou  & also more tammy in general' + **rooney** \- 'i'd love to see a lou x tammy where tammy takes out all her frustrations on lou, slapping, choking, rough as shit  & lou is so down for it & laughing through it all like damn girl okay ya, bonus points if nine ball has like cameras set up in all the rooms & she’s secretly watching from the comfort of the couch around corner like wow this is better than hbo'. 
> 
> because of the nature of the prompt, this chapter is a bit more dark + fucked up than the others. there is an element of dub-con in that nine ball is implied to be watching tammy & lou have sex without tammy's prior consent. tammy is okay with it after lou reveals this & it's implied she would have been okay with it if lou had said so earlier, but it's still a very grey area & such behaviour **definitely** should not be conducted irl. avoid this chapter if you're not comfortable with this.
> 
> tags: angry sex, rough sex, choking, oral sex, fingering, scratching, blood mention, voyeurism, implied unrequited debbie x tammy, implied established lou x nine ball

Of all eight of them, Tammy probably has the best temper. Motherhood has taught her how to keep it under control, to keep calm and count to ten and think rationally beyond the initial flash of rage. Daphne, unsurprisingly, loses her shit the easiest, and Constance is the scariest when she gets _really_ angry because she usually just loses her temper but it blows over quickly. But Tammy? Tammy doesn’t get mad, not the way they do. She keeps her cool and works things out instead of blowing her top. She gets annoyed and frustrated sometimes but she just doesn’t get _angry._

So one evening when she gets home and slams the front door behind her and storms up to Lou’s room without a word, her expression dark and dangerous, they all know something is Up. 

“Ten dollars says Debbie did something stupid,” Amita whispers. 

“Hmm,” Nine Ball replies noncommitally. “Be right back.”

 

 

Tammy practically wrenches the door to Lou’s room off its hinges, storming in and shutting it behind her so violently that the whole frame judders. Lou’s reclining on her bed, looking over her magazine. “What happened?”

“Don’t _what happened_ me. Did you know Debbie was pulling another fucking con on her own?” 

Lou shrugs. “It didn’t seem like a big deal. Her plan was airtight. In and out, back by tomorrow.”

“Right. Doesn’t that just absolutely explain why she got my car impounded and why she’s sitting in a holding cell right now?” 

“Tammy, calm down,” Lou says, still aggravatingly sedate. In that moment she comes closer to being strangled to death than any other moment in her career. “Just get Nine Ball to do her thing, and we can get her out of that in under twelve hours. Your car, too.”

“That’s not the point,” Tammy shouts, raising her voice. “The point is that she does this, she runs off on her own even though we are a _team,_ and doesn’t tell anyone what she’s doing, and she’s so goddamn arrogant about it sometimes she doesn’t realise she’s going to fuck up until she ends up in the clutches of the cops, and then she just takes it for fucking granted that we’re going to bail her out. And you’re just sitting there, enabling her, and letting her run off and do whatever the fuck she wants and sitting back and watching her instead of telling her to get her shit together!”

Lou’s eyes flash, and she gets off the bed, stalking over to Tammy. “I’m not Debbie’s fucking keeper. I’m not going to coddle her and waste my breath trying to talk her out of things she’s already set her mind on, that’s not my fucking job. She knows the risk when she runs a job and she can get herself out of shit if she really needs to.” She’s right in front of Tammy, expression thunderous. “See, that’s the thing about you, you rush in with your bullshit saviour complex or what the fuck ever and you expect people to answer to you, and listen, we’re even, alright? Debbie doesn’t owe you jack shit and neither do I, and especially not in this.”

Tammy’s hand is moving before she even really processes it, and the whipcrack of the slap is deafening, echoing against the walls of Lou’s room. Lou stumbles back a step, one hand cupping the side of her face, wincing. Tammy doesn’t move an inch, just clenches her fists and trembles with the sheer rage welling up inside her. For minutes they don’t speak, the tension weighing over the room, and finally Lou looks up, dropping her hand. “I’m not her,” she says quietly. “I’m not who you want.”

“No, you’re not,” Tammy agrees, not sure if she’s acknowledging the first or second statement, and steps it to kiss her. It’s a savage kiss, no trace of affection in it, no kindness. Their teeth click together, Tammy dragging hers against Lou’s tongue, tempted to bite, draw blood. Her fingers curl around Lou’s collar, gripping tight, and she pretty much drags her back onto the bed, shoves Lou down and pins her wrists above her head. Lou pants, eyes blazing, a little wild. “Want me to moan like she does? Too blonde for you?” 

Tammy’s palm meets her cheek again, striking hard, more deliberate this time. Lou lets out the faintest grunt of pain, gritting her teeth. “She won’t let you fuck her, she won’t stay for you, so I guess I’m the next best thing, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tammy says, choking on it, the truth in it. She presses the heel of one hand against Lou’s throat, pressing down, pressing hard, and doesn’t let go until Lou makes this just-audible gurgle and gasps desperately for air when Tammy relaxes the pressure. “Jesus, you _are_ pissed.”

“I said shut the _fuck_ up. Don’t make me gag you.” 

“You’d like that,” Lou taunts, grinning wide even though her voice is rough and raspy. “Maybe you’d like to spank me too. For not being a good girl.” The words drip with derision, and Tammy’s sole hysterical thought is that Lou needs to just _stop fucking talking._ She tugs her underwear off, pushes her skirt up, straddles Lou’s face. “Use your fucking mouth for something.” 

Lou does, with a zeal that’s more ferocity than passion. Tammy tangles her fingers in Lou’s hair and pulls, rocking her hips against Lou’s mouth without concern for her comfort, her pleasure. She wants to come, needs to, burns for it, can’t stop thinking about Debbie and the anger fuels her, consuming every inch of her. 

She’s too wound up, too furious, to really enjoy the orgasm, but she does enjoy seeing Lou’s wrecked mouth when she slides off, enjoys hearing Lou’s groan when she tears off her pants and just slides two fingers inside her. No warning, no preparation, and she’s not nearly wet enough to enjoy it without feeling the burn. Lou cries out, a sound that tells of actual pain without any pleasure, but she doesn’t use any of her safewords so Tammy keeps going, fucking inside her brutally, without mercy. Her other hand glides down the valley between Lou’s breasts, along her ribcage, down her flat stomach, and her nails dig into every inch of skin she can reach, scratching and clawing until she knows she’s drawing blood. 

She doesn’t let Lou come, just withdraws her hand once she’s tired and stands back up, getting herself off to another quick orgasm in full view of Lou, who settles back onto her bed and catches her breath. Tammy watches her sigh, touch the new wounds on her front with slight hitches in her breathing, then - this is weird - bring two fingers to her forehead and give a jaunty salute into one corner of the room. Tammy frowns. “What are you doing?”

Lou just points at said corner, and Tammy turns to look, feeling ice wash through her veins. “Is that a camera?”

“Nine Ball installed it,” she says lazily, smile curling up on her lips. “For… recreational purposes. And she’s been stressed lately. I thought she might like to relax, so… I orchestrated some things.”

Tammy goes completely still, the realisations beginning to flood her. “Did you want this?” She demands, feeling her stomach drop. “You set me up. You used me.”

“Like you used me?” Lou retorts. “Don’t freak out, Tammy. Nine Ball isn’t an asshole or an idiot. The footage isn’t going anywhere. Unless you count the spank bank.” 

“She saw everything,” Tammy says, brain still catching up. Lou chuckles, the sound dark and a little mean. “And probably got herself off to it too.” She raises an eyebrow. “She’s good at this too, you know. She won’t lie back and take it like me, but she’s definitely got the energy to go up against you. Meet you strike for strike. You could take it out on her.” 

She doesn’t ask it like a question. Already knows what Tammy’s answer is going to be. Slowly, slowly, Lou reaches for her phone, presses a button. “Baby?” She says, enunciating each word, gaze never leaving Tammy’s, and Tammy can feel complicated heat rising in her chest, can feel herself getting wet all over again. “Why don’t you come on in?”


	25. amita x rose - french

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: missing scene (set after the point where amita & rose go to cartier), limo sex, fingering, implied amita x daphne x rose

The first words out of Amita’s mouth when they’re in the car back to headquarters are: “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“My grandmother was French,” Rose replies, relaxing back onto the plush leather seats. “Lord, if we pull this heist off and I don’t end up in prison, I’m taking a limo everywhere.” 

“We live in New York,” Amita says, an explanation in and of itself. “Back it up to the French. What were you saying to the Cartier guy? I didn’t understand anything except ‘Daphne Kluger’.” 

“I told him that a whole generation of teenagers didn’t pronounce Cartier properly, and that the Toussaint wasn’t doing them any favours locked in a vault when it could be going viral around the world nestled in the ample bosom of Daphne Kluger.”

Amita stares at Rose unblinkingly for five long seconds. “In those words. You got us the Toussaint by talking about Daphne Kluger’s boobs?” 

“You have to admit they’re a very fine pair.” 

Amita opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again, and eventually settles on a weak ‘eh’ of approval. Rose turns to her, raising one eyebrow. “You don’t agree?”

“No, I mean, yes, I agree, I just… hadn’t thought about her like that.” She squints suspiciously at Rose. “Have you?”

Rose looks completely unflappable, reclining luxuriously, her hair fanned out against the black leather. “Of course I have. So has half the world. Who wouldn’t? She’s fit, she’s gorgeous, and if the tabloids are right, she’s a beast in the sack.” 

“Oh my god,” Amita hisses, glancing wildly towards the driver and bringing up the partition. “Rose, you’re going to be spending _significant_ amounts of alone time with Daphne Kluger, who we are _robbing._ Please don’t have sex with her.” 

“Why not? As long as it doesn’t get in the way of the plan.” She cocks her head and narrows her eyes at Amita. “Are you jealous?”

Of course she isn’t, what is Rose even talking about? Amita opens her mouth to say that, and then finds that she can’t actually get the words out because she’s too busy thinking about Rose banging the shit out of Daphne Kluger and everything kind of gets caught in her throat. Rose frowns at her, then her expression clears, and she props herself off the seat to lean closer to Amita. “Amita, love, you don’t need to be jealous.” Her hand skates against Amita’s waist, edging up to the back of her neck, to the zip of her dress. “I can lavish my time and energy on more than one woman, you know.”

Amita thinks about what would involve Rose lavishing her _time_ and _energy_ on her and makes a weak, distressed, _wanting_ noise. Rose leans in and presses her lips against the hollow at the base of her throat, tugging her zip down. The dress comes apart in her skilled hands, bunching up at the waist, and Rose taps her thigh. “Up,” she says, and Amita accedes, letting her tug the entire getup off her, leaving her in her underwear. 

Rose makes a soft sound of approval, her eyes roaming across Amita’s body. “Very nice.” 

“Your clothes are still on,” Amita answers dumbly, because it’s really the only thing she can think of at the moment. Rose hums in acknowledgment and gets said clothes off, and Amita absolutely cannot tear her eyes away, not until Rose straddles her waist and leans down to kiss her properly. 

She works _fast._ Amita hasn’t even had her tongue in her mouth for more than a couple seconds before Rose is sliding her hand inside her underwear to cup her, to press the heel of her palm against her and rub her clit. And - oh wow, that feels nice, just the slow rock of her hand sending shockwaves up Amita’s spine every time she moves. They’re still kissing, and she can feel Rose’s breasts pressed against her own, can feel her wet against her thigh. 

Rose starts to rock her hips, and Amita realises with a thrill that Rose is fucking herself against her bare thigh, nestled snugly between her legs, can feel the slick slide of Rose’s cunt over her skin. She pulls away from Amita’s mouth so she can sit up, work herself into a better position, and her head tips back as she works both of them to orgasm in unison. Her neck is long and lovely, that gorgeous expanse of pale skin, and it takes Amita’s breath away. She has the sudden urge to bruise it with her lips and tongue and teeth, to mark Rose up so Daphne Kluger sees. So she knows that Rose has been with someone else, _has_ someone else, even if she fucks her into her thousand-thread-count bed in her fancy hotel suite. 

She comes on Rose’s hand and Rose comes on her thigh and the limo keeps going, the partition still blessedly down, and Rose gives her a saucy little grin. “Still thinking about Daphne Kluger’s boobs?”

“I wasn’t even - “ Amita starts, and Rose shushes her with a quick kiss. “You know, you could come with me and help _appraise_ … some other jewellery she’s wearing.” 

Hmm. Amita lets herself consider this option and then nods, grinning and blood already running hot with the idea. “You got yourself a deal.” 


	26. debbie x lou - xo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'lou/debbie. public sex in a balcony. lou tells debbie if she can't be quiet she'll stop'. 
> 
> in case anyone is unclear, debbie's swipe-tap thing is the morse code for 'xo', which in this chapter is part of the headcanon that throughout their relationship, they use it as a kind of comfort signifier - showing the other person that they're feeling okay, feeling good, or that they're there for them. 
> 
> tags: established relationship, future fic, exhibitionism, strap-ons, oral sex, penetrative sex, anal fingering, rimming mention, edging mention, lou licks champagne off debbie which sounds nice in fiction but doesn't really work out very well in real life jsyk

Debbie’s had sex in a lot of places. She blames this on Lou, who’s adventurous as hell and loves the adrenaline rush that comes with the possibility of being seen, being watched, getting caught. It starts with the two of them in high school, making out in their homeroom, and never really ends. 

When Debbie gets out of jail, it’s been a bit more than five years, eight months and twelve days since she and Lou fucked, because before jail there was the trial, and before the trial there was the holding period, and before the holding period, there was Claude. Debbie will never forgive herself for it, can never let herself forget that it was _her_ fault that she landed up in the slammer and left Lou alone. She wants Claude rotting behind bars too, but she knows a lot of the blame is hers to carry. 

She gets out, though, which is the important part. She gets out, and visits Danny’s grave, and Lou picks her up. They manage to make it all the way back to their new headquarters and actually _talk_ about the heist before Lou says her name, this familiar way, and Debbie grabs her collar and pulls her in and kisses her. Five years, eight months and twelve days, and Lou ends up fucking her on the kitchen table, rough and fast and desperate, and then they spend a good half an hour just kissing, slow, full of all the words they can’t say. 

Debbie tells the other girls that there’s no way this heist will go wrong, and she will not let herself even think otherwise, because she is never leaving Lou again, never letting her go, never leaving her behind, not ever. 

 

 

The job goes off perfectly - obviously - and even Daphne’s surprise appearance doesn’t fuck things up as much as improves them, and the girls stay, and Debbie settles into something comfortable, something good. Lets herself dig her heels in and hold on and be content, for once in her life. She has more than thirty million dollars to her name, has a found family, has a beautiful woman beside her every night, and she doesn’t think she really needs anything else.

Of course there’s always adventure - she’s an Ocean, and her blood sings for it, never letting her just stay still, but adventure comes in many shapes and forms. One of them being Lou.

 

 

“You really let your exhibitionism thing go while I was in the clink, huh,” Debbie says as Lou’s tongue laves across the expanse of her throat. They’re on the balcony outside their room, bracing the cool fall breeze and looking out on the front yard. The girls are out in the backyard having an impromptu barbecue, but Debbie knows they could come back in any time, or just head around to the front, and see everything happening on the balcony. 

Everything currently being Lou, with a glass of champagne in one hand, pouring it little by little onto Debbie’s skin, letting the golden liquid bubble and drip across Debbie’s mouth, neck, between her breasts. She licks it off her, every inch, the remainder staining the sheets laid beneath them. The temperature’s on the low side and Debbie’s completely naked, her skin pebbling with goosebumps and her nipples hard, wet as Lou glides her tongue over them, sucking and biting with just the right amount of pressure. She’s all over Debbie, skin on skin, and every so often Debbie can feel the strap-on between her thighs catch against her clit and she inhales sharply, the breath coming out as a moan, a whine, a helpless whimper. Lou gets her this way, only Lou, always Lou - vulnerable and desperate and a fucking mess. 

“This reminds me of the time when we were in college,” Lou says conversationally, like she isn’t setting her empty glass down and beginning to straddle Debbie’s face so she can feed the head of the strap-on into her willing mouth. “When you picked the lock to the roof of the law block and used the vibe on me.” 

Debbie doesn’t respond, too busy with the length of the toy down her throat, but her fingers drift to Lou’s thigh - swipe, two taps, swipe, three swipes. Lou laughs softly, rocking her hips so Debbie’s throat flutters around the tip of the toy, taking all of it. “You get me so wet, baby.” She lets Debbie suck on the toy for a bit longer, then gently slides it out of her mouth, easing her way onto her feet. “Come on, I want you on all fours. Face the glass.” 

She likes it like this, and Debbie knows it. Always positions them so Debbie’s looking out, whenever they fuck outdoors, in a public place. Knows that if anyone walks in on them, it’ll be the first thing they see - Debbie’s mouth open, the pants and gasps falling easy from her lips, the tears in her eyes as Lou fucks into her with her mouth, her fingers, her cock. Debbie gets on her hands and knees, looks out on the front yard as Lou knee-walks up to her, palms against her ass, thumbs spreading her cunt open. Debbie can feel herself practically blooming, opening up for Lou. 

“Shh,” Lou murmurs, as the head of the toy presses inside Debbie, and she thrusts slowly into her, working more and more of the strap-on inside her. Debbie makes this frantic, needy sound, trying to fuck herself onto the toy, and Lou reacts by sliding it back out until the barest inch remains inside. “No moving. No noise.” 

She fucks back into Debbie, even slower this time, and Debbie tries hard to keep quiet but she just can’t, the sobs and whines punching past her clenched teeth and out into the open. Lou buries her cock inside her cunt, all the way, and it’s taking every single ounce of willpower Debbie has to stop herself from crying out. 

Then she hears the familiar click of a bottlecap opening, the sound of liquid exiting said bottle. Lou doesn’t speak, doesn’t even make a sound, until two fingers skate against Debbie’s hole, against the point where the toy is sunk into her, and up. 

“Like I said, college,” Lou says, voice a low rumble in the quiet night. “When you got me on my hands and knees and licked my ass open and made me scream so loud I thought I was going to lose my voice.” 

Oh _fuck._ Debbie knows what’s coming, is trembling for it, feels Lou’s lubed fingers push into her where she’s furled and tight. She goes slow, gentle, up to her first knuckle. “Okay?”

The only way it will not be ‘okay’ is if she fucking stops now, Debbie thinks. “More, Lou, fuck, more, I need, I need.” 

Lou laughs again, rich and lush and a little bit proud. “Imagine if the girls saw you now, darling. Just came up onto the porch and looked up at you, with my cock in your cunt and my fingers in your ass.” She sinks them deeper, two knuckles, and Debbie’s mouth drops open, incoherent babbling spilling out without stopping. Most of it is just Lou’s name, and begging, pleading, some parts filthy, and she just can’t stop, her voice going louder and louder.

“Deb, baby, the girls could hear you,” Lou says calmly, without pause. “If you can’t be quiet, I’m going to stop.” 

Which is a very, _very_ real threat, Debbie knows this - she’s had Lou go an entire _week_ torturing her like that, bringing her so close and then stopping just as Debbie’s about to go over the edge and just leaving - and she clenches her jaw, tries to swallow down the sounds she’s making as Lou works her open, fucks her closer and closer to her climax. 

“How much of me can you take, Debbie?” Lou asks in the same tone she uses to ask Constance if she needs to top up her Metrocard. “What if I slid another finger inside you with my cock?” 

All the breath leaves Debbie’s lungs and she just comes right that second, at the thought, at the image, her teeth sinking into her lip and drawing blood so she doesn’t scream loud enough to be heard by everyone in a five-mile radius. Her legs can’t stop shaking even after Lou pulls out and gently eases her back onto the sheets. Debbie has her eyes closed as she tries to pull shuddering breaths back into her lungs, and just hears the rustle of Lou cleaning herself up a little before she lies back onto the sheets beside Debbie and pulls her close, kissing her on the forehead. “Felt good?” 

“So good, Lou, Jesus,” Debbie answers promptly, pressing her lips against the edge of Lou’s mouth. “You could fuck me like that every day and I would never get tired of it.”

Lou grimaces. “God, isn’t it hell on your knees? Mine are fucking aching, I’m getting old and decrepit.” She lets Debbie pull her in closer to rest her chin on the top of her head, laughing all the while. “Does that mean you don’t want to go down to the beach tomorrow night and fuck me on the shore?”

“Now don’t go putting words in my mouth,” Lou warns. Debbie smirks. “Why would I when I could put something better in there?” 

Lou rolls her eyes. “Hilarious. Let’s go and get changed and actually join the girls for the barbecue before they really come up and investigate.” 

Debbie accedes with a soft smile, pulling herself back up into a standing position, but not before she brings her fingers to Lou’s wrist - _swipe, tap tap, swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe._ Lou smiles back, and takes her by the hand, leads her back into their bedroom with a kiss.


	27. nine ball x rose - you tricked me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **themetgayla** \- 'please do rose x nine ball' + **maxx_mouse1441** \- 'maybe, if you get the chance to or something, you could do one of nine ball  & rose? i dunno why but the contrast & difference between them could be something really epic'. 
> 
> the women's world snooker championship exists. the 1982 edition does not. 
> 
> tags: future fic, pre-romance, semi-public sex, quickie, fingering, porn with some feelings, daphne x lou mention, debbie x tammy mention, national treasure rose weil

From the start, Nine Ball already thinks Rose is pretty interesting. She seems unstable and eccentric and possibly not the sharpest tool in the shed to people who don’t look too closely, but Nine Ball’s always been the kind of person to look. Rose thinks different, sees beauty in things everyone else scorns, and is far more intelligent than people give her credit for. She respects that. Also, it’s definitely a plus point that she’s attractive. Her wild creations work on her and only her, but when she wears them they bring out something about her that just pretty much blows Nine Ball’s mind.

She doesn’t do anything about it, though, even after everything settles down post-heist. She thinks there might be something there between Rose and Daphne and she doesn’t want to be a bitch about it, though she does contemplate possibly asking them about a threesome. Also, she doesn’t know how to go about it in that smooth operator way. She really doesn’t think going straight up to Rose and asking about a lay would work very well. These high-flying types, Nine Ball sighs to herself. She’s got to find a way to be more subtle about it.

 

 

She’s the first one to find her niche after the heist, because she’s been playing at this really nice pool hall for years now, knows the owner by name, and when the money starts coming in she asks if he’d be up for partnership of some sort. He drops the bomb that he’s been wanting to retire and asks if she’d like to buy over the place for cheap. She’s not a fucking dick, so she does not buy it off ‘for cheap’, but within a month she’s got her name on the lease and she’s in business.

“You guys should come over for a game,” she suggests to the rest on movie night. “The revamp’s almost done, the bar’s in operation, and I got in a bunch of fancy new tables. It’ll be fun as hell.” 

“Oh _shit_ , yes,” Constance crows, looking excited. “I haven’t played in _so_ long, let’s do it.” 

They set a date, and Nine Ball closes shop earlier so they can have the place to themselves, lays out all the drinks and sends the rest of the crew home. Everyone gets a pool-themed shot when they arrive - corny, but it’s a hit with the regulars - and they start the game, four against four, taking turns to play against each other.

It goes… interestingly. Debbie is crap at playing and gets teased by Tammy about it the entire time - apparently they used to go to pool halls together as teenagers all the time and Debbie was perpetually getting her ass handed to her by Tammy and nothing has changed. Lou’s not bad, but impatient as hell and misses more shots than she should because she won’t line her cue up properly before taking her shot. Constance’s pretty good, chalks it down to the necessary hand-eye coordination she developed in her line of work. Amita’s also decent but doesn’t particularly enjoy the game, doesn’t bother making difficult shots when she decides they’re not worth the effort. Daphne is by far the best of them after Nine Ball - not only is she good, she’s competitive, and extremely focused when she gets into her Must Win Mode. 

Rose is… Rose is _awful._ She doesn’t pot a shot once in two hours. She’s on stripes but hits solids most times she’s up at the table. Nine Ball has to spend five minutes at the beginning of the game showing her how to hold the cue properly, and there’s a round where she aims for the cue ball, prods it, and not only sends the ball flying but the cue as well. It is not pretty. Everyone’s kind about it, but even Rose herself looks embarrassed after the end of their third game. 

“Okay, I’m done,” Daphne says when she loses to Nine Ball once again. “My arms are going to fall off, I need a drink.”

This is met by approval from everyone except Rose, who casts a longing glance at the pool table again. “I’m going to stay here,” she says. “I want to figure out how to actually play this game. I’ll catch up with the rest of you later.” 

Nine Ball cocks her head, slows her pace as the rest acknowledge Rose’s statement and head to the bar. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Rose replies, looking determined as she picks the cue up again. “I don’t want to leave before sinking at least _one_ shot. It’s embarrassing.”

That’s cute. Nine Ball doesn’t even try to tamp down the fond smile on her face. “You want me to guide you? One on one might help. Come on, I’ll show you. Everyone starts from somewhere.” 

Rose smiles invitingly, so Nine Ball goes to her side with her personal cue and sets up the object balls in their proper places. “Okay, so first thing, you gotta get your grip right…”

 

 

It’s about fifteen minutes into the impromptu lesson when Rose is bent over the table with her eye on the cue ball and her brow furrowed in concentration, and it suddenly occurs to Nine Ball that she’s for all means and purposes sprawled against Rose’s back, with her hands on Rose’s arms and her lips dangerously close to Rose’s ear. Her breathing hitches a little - how did she not realise how she’d gotten into such a compromising position? 

Rose hears her, turns a little to look at her. “Something wrong?”

“Uh,” Nine Ball replies intelligently, then mentally slaps herself - is she tongue-tied? Seriously? By a girl? Honestly, how pathetic can she get - but then Rose is starting to smile. “Too close for comfort?” She actually _bats her eyelashes_ and from anybody else that would just make Nine Ball snort and laugh, but Rose makes it work, like she somehow makes everything work. Nine Ball feels her mouth go dry. “No, I’m just - “

“Looking, like you have been for the past few months?” Rose completes the sentence for her, straightening up in one poised movement so she’s chest to chest with Nine Ball. “If you want something, why haven’t you taken it?” 

Nine Ball opens her mouth to say something - exactly what, she isn’t sure - and Rose cuts her off with a kiss, her hands sliding to Nine Ball’s waist. Nine Ball, who no one could ever call slow on the uptake, immediately responds, backing Rose against the table and flattening her palms against the baize surface. For a good minute she’s just caught up in the kiss, the slide of Rose’s tongue against her teeth, the wet, breathy sounds she’s making, the way Rose’s legs wrap around her thighs. It completely slips her notice that Rose is deftly undoing her shirt and jeans, up until her hand is sliding past Nine Ball’s waistband and dipping between her thighs. 

“Okay, slick,” Nine Ball says, laughing breathlessly, very impressed. Rose just smiles, looking up at her. “One finger or two?”

Nine Ball raises an eyebrow. “Be ambitious,” she replies, then moans when Rose’s lips curl up further and she can feel the burn and stretch of three fingers sliding inside her wet heat. “Oh, shit, yeah, that’s good.” She drops her mouth against the length of Rose’s pale neck and sucks, with a bit of teeth, her hands skimming up Rose’s sides to glide under her bra, to trace slow circles around her nipples. Rose’s fingers stutter a little inside her, but she recovers quickly, keeps curling and thrusting while Nine Ball uses her own mouth and fingers on her. Rose has long, lovely fingers, filling her, working her, and Nine Ball comes against her hand, biting down against Rose’s shoulder. 

She brings Rose off about the same way, three fingers in her cunt while Rose is leant against the pool table, her mouth everywhere - Rose’s breasts, her neck, her lips. It’s fast and hard, both of them just a tad worried about the girls possibly wondering what they’re doing and coming in to investigate, but it’s good nonetheless. She moans into Nine Ball’s mouth when she climaxes and Nine Ball notes the mess of her makeup with satisfaction. 

They both sort out themselves out, after, trying to get their hair flat again and uncrease the fabric, and Nine Ball also has _questions,_ now that she’s thinking straight again. “I thought you were with Daphne,” she says, first thing after she gets her shirt buttoned. Rose raises her eyebrows, zipping the back of her dress. “God, no. Daphne’s with Lou, and I do not have a death wish.”

Nine Ball frowns. “What? I thought Lou was with Debbie.”

Rose gives her a pitying look that tells of disbelief and amazement. “Debbie’s dating Tammy. Has been since midway through the heist. Something about catching up on lost time. Where have you been?”

 _Too busy looking at you,_ Nine Ball thinks, but doesn’t say it because she wants to retain _some_ dignity. Instead she looks pointedly at the pool table, which she’ll… probably have to disinfect later. “Well, that lesson was a failure, I suppose.” 

To her surprise, Rose throws her head back and laughs, long and loud and slightly terrifying. With this smug grin on her face, she picks up the cue, lines it up with the cue ball, and shoots. It whizzes perfectly across the baize. Number three and number five disappear into two separate pockets, and the cue ball rolls to a stop in the perfect position to line up for number eight. Nine Ball watches its progress with wide eyes and more sudden realisations. 

“Check out the 1982 edition of the Women’s World Snooker Championship,” Rose says with a wink. “Youngest ever competitor and winner.” 

“Oh my _god,”_ Nine Ball says, her jaw pretty much on the floor. “You _tricked me.”_

Rose shrugs, still grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “There’s more than one way to con a con.”

“Okay, you have officially blown my mind,” Nine Ball replies, starting to laugh. “Shit, you’re incredible. I take my hat off to you, you’re amazing. Please go out with me, I’ve wanted to ask since the start of the heist.” 

Rose’s expression softens, and she puts the cue down to step closer to Nine Ball and kiss her, chaste and brief this time. “Sounds good to me.” She tilts her head in the direction of the bar. “Want to go and tell the girls the good news?” 

“Leaving out the orgasms, I hope,” Nine Ball smirks, but lets Rose slide her hand in hers, and take them back out to join their family.


	28. debbie x lou x tammy - list

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **bia** \- 'if you're taking requests i would love some tammy x lou x debbie, maybe post-canon'. i'm SO SORRY this has taken so long  & i really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> tags: future fic, office sex, oral sex, fingering, voyeurism, masturbation, sex toys, sub debbie

Lou’s waiting outside the cemetery, again, when Debbie’s done with her visit. It’s eerily reminiscent of before the heist, only this time Reuben isn’t there, and Lou’s revving her bike with her helmet and jacket on, and they’re both thirty-eight million dollars richer than they were a month ago. It feels amazing. 

Feels even better when she walks out to meet Lou, who pulls off her helmet and greets her with a lingering kiss. “You good?”

“I’m okay,” Debbie says, and means it, because either Danny is really gone and she’s pulled off an incredible heist that would make him proud, or he’s still alive and he’ll probably pop up behind her in a nondescript store a year on and she’ll smack him a bit and he’ll laugh and it will be fine. Either way, she’s come to terms with that, and she’s got her girls, and she’ll be alright. 

“Okay,” Lou replies, and passes her another helmet. “Come on. If we ride hard, we’ll be at Tammy’s right before she closes up for the day.” 

Debbie accepts the helmet. “What, I don’t get a leather jacket like you?”

Lou laughs, swinging her leg over the bike and grinning. “Baby, you gotta _earn_ it.” 

 

 

Lou rides well and the weather is good. They pull up at Tammy’s office with time to spare, stash the helmets and head upstairs. They’re on the list - legitimately, this time - and nobody gives them a second look as they saunter into Tammy’s private nook. “Hey, babe.” 

Tammy looks up, smiling at both of them. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.” 

“Thought we’d surprise you, Miss Bigshot CEO,” Debbie says, with deep fondness in her tone. “How’s it going?”

“Better than I expected. I think it helps that I can afford to inject a bit of extra here and there to keep business robust. We should break even within two months, maybe less.” 

“Good,” Lou says, still leaning against the door - locked, now. “We should celebrate.” 

Tammy’s smile gets wider, more predatory, more wanting. “We should,” she agrees, licking her lips, one quick movement. “What were you thinking of?” 

Lou strides over to where Debbie sits, perched on the desk, her hand settling against the small of her back. “Debbie on her knees,” she says, low and playful. “Eating you out, under your desk.” 

“And you?” Tammy shoots back, but her pupils are already dilating, her legs already spreading, backing her chair up a bit to make space for Debbie under the table. Lou smirks. “I’ll just watch.” 

Tammy’s eyes are dark, full of desire, and she keeps them trained on Debbie as she gets off the table and slides herself under it in one elegant motion, looking up at Tammy with her lips slightly parted and her expression open and willing. “Sounds good to me,” Tammy murmurs, twisting her fingers through Debbie’s long hair and bringing her close. Debbie’s hands tug at her skirt, her underwear, pulling them down to her ankles and off. She puts her mouth on Tammy, starting with sweet, soft kitten licks, light and teasing. 

“Come on, baby,” Tammy hears Lou’s voice again, closer this time where Lou’s leaning against the wall, watching both of them avidly. “You can do better than that.” She’s holding her vibrator against her clit, turned onto the lowest setting, and they all hear the soft buzz reverberate through the room. Debbie moans and does as she says, licking, sucking, harder and faster and a little rougher, almost like she’s gagging for it. 

They both love how she looks like this. Debbie’s always radiated power with every step she takes, from the very beginning of their friendship, always the mastermind, always the leader, but when they’re together, behind closed doors, they just have to give her the word and she drops to her knees. Opens her mouth for them, her legs, just takes it. It’s a privilege to be privy to this side of her, takes a whole lot of trust, and it’s something they never take for granted. 

“You look so beautiful,” Lou continues, because that’s just another thing about the three of them, how they are when they fuck - Debbie, enthusiastic and submissive; Tammy, quiet and focused; Lou, a little wild, her mouth filthy and running. “Fucking gorgeous, sweetheart, making her come. You take such good care of us.” She’s still watching, still trembling a little as she works the vibe between her thighs. Tammy glides her fingertips against Debbie’s scalp, pulling her closer, gently, revels in the feeling of Debbie’s mouth on her. 

She’s still quiet when she comes, just biting off a soft gasp and long exhale. Debbie brings her face away, looks up with a proud grin, and it makes Tammy want to kiss her. She helps Debbie up, nods when she sees the question in Debbie’s eyes, lets Debbie straddle her in the chair, knees against the leather. She settles comfortably on top of Tammy and lets her push two fingers inside her, finding her soaking wet, thrusting slowly. Lou comes over to join them, one hand remaining between her legs, and kisses Debbie, deep and passionate. Tammy watches, enraptured, because Debbie and Lou kiss the way two people kiss when they have years upon years of history between them, more weight and worth than can be expressed in words. 

“I can taste you on her tongue,” Lou says without looking at Tammy, but it makes her fingers stutter inside Debbie anyway, the shot of arousal hitting her like a freight train. Lou’s other hand comes to rest against her cheek, thumb slipping into Tammy’s mouth, sighing. “Yeah, that’s good.” 

They don’t come in unison but close enough, Debbie shuddering against Tammy’s hand and Lou moaning into Debbie’s mouth. She sets the vibrator down on Tammy’s desk with a small smile, kissing Debbie one more time and helping her off Tammy’s chair. “Good, darling?” 

“Mm-hm,” Debbie murmurs, propping herself up against the table. Lou presses another kiss to her jaw. “You’re so good for us.” 

“If this is what your unexpected surprises entail, please visit more often,” Tammy says, running one hand through her hair and basking in the afterglow. 

Debbie and Lou exchange twin grins, both looking relaxed and happy and so in love with each other, with her, with this. “Well,” Lou says. “We _are_ on the list.”


	29. daphne x debbie x lou - closets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **lachtara** \- 'something with debbie, lou  & daphne having to hide in a closet or something during a job & well, we all know how loud daphne can get'. 
> 
> tags: future fic, semi-public sex, fingering, implied established debbie x lou, nine ball is so done with their shit

For all Daphne has been stuck in the metaphorical closet all her life, she never once thought she was ever going to get stuck in a literal one. 

And it’s Debbie and Lou’s fault.

Of fucking course it is.

 

 

It starts, of course, with Debbie Ocean being an Ocean and getting restless six months after the Toussaint heist. Daphne’s pretty sure Lou’s been keeping her occupied but really, there is only so much sex you can have. Debbie is _bored,_ and a bored Debbie is a dangerous Debbie, because she ends up doing dumb shit. So Lou, in all her wisdom, suggests a small con. Just a small one, nothing major, an easy job. They won’t even steal anything very valuable, just break into an office building for the fun and the challenge, maybe take home a nice souvenir if they see something - Lou’s been wanting a snow globe, for reasons Daphne won’t even bother thinking about - and leave. Done. 

“Take me with you,” Daphne demands, after Debbie and Lou lay out their idea to the rest. She very badly wants to join them. It’s just - she’s in this group with seven other women who robbed Cartier and the Met Gala and _her,_ and she kind of elbowed her way in and technically, if they all ever went to court, the only thing she could be charged with would be perjury and the obstruction of justice and what the fuck ever. The rest are actual criminals, and she’s unblooded. 

Daphne doesn’t like being unblooded. She wants to be a criminal. Just like all of them. A real actual criminal. Not the best of life goals, but frankly being Hollywood’s angel wasn’t exactly what her parents had in mind for her either, so forgive her if she doesn’t give a fuck. 

Debbie and Lou both look at her with eyebrows raised. “You want to come?”

“Yes,” Daphne says very firmly. “I haven’t actually done any of this criminal shit. I want to try it. I have skills. Like all of you. I can act. And I can remember faces. I won’t get in the way.” 

Debbie glances at Lou again. Lou shrugs, a lazy smile curling up on her face. “I actually think that might be a wonderful idea.” 

 

 

Which is how she first ends up in some fancy-schmancy twentieth-floor office, with Nine Ball working the cameras so they don’t get caught on CCTV, and Amita and Constance waiting in a van about two blocks away to casually drive over and pick them up when they’re done. The sneaking about is quite fun and exhilarating and Debbie and Lou are so in sync it’s breathtaking to watch. 

Fifteen minutes before they’re due to saunter out of the building, Nine Ball comes over the comms to inform them that a fucking _SWAT team_ is entering it. 

“They’re not here for you,” she says, which is slightly reassuring, but still a bit of a problem because _SWAT team?!?!_ “Wait, let me - “ They hear clicking and scrolling over the link. “Okay, they’re on the trail of some drug lords on floor nineteen or some shit like that, they’re here for them.” 

“Okay, let’s get the hell out of dodge, then,” Debbie says. Nine Ball clicks her tongue in frustration. “No, they - shit, they got the exits covered, even the roof. You guys need to hide somewhere in case they come and sweep the twentieth.”

“Can’t we just pretend to be working here?” Lou asks. Nine Ball’s reply is prompt and apologetic. “Don’t think that’s on the table, Lou. From the chatter I’m getting it sounds like they worked with the other tenants in the building and got it cleared out in advance for the raid. If you’re in sight they might think you’re part of the operation and then we’re in the shit.” She sighs, sounding irritated. “It sounds like they’re going intensive on the nineteenth floor. They might not even check out where you guys are at, but better safe than sorry. I doubt it’ll be a full sweep - just hide in an office or a closet or a bathroom or something and wait it out.”

Which is how Daphne ends up in aforementioned closet, which is relatively spacious but this isn’t exactly evident when she’s pretty much trapped inside with two other people and a SWAT team is raiding the floor right below them. This is way more than she bargained for, and worse, she seems to be the only one feeling any panic. She glares at Debbie and Lou, who are sitting on some plastic cartons, pressed up against each other. “How are you two so calm?”

“We’ve been through worse,” Debbie says with a careless shrug. “And gotten out of worse. We just have to wait it out, and once Nine Ball gives us the all-clear, we just leave. It’s not that high-risk.” She frowns. “Frankly the boredom is what worries me more. If we’re going to be stuck in a janitor’s closet for _another_ hour with nothing to do I’m going to pull all my hair out.”

Lou leans back to look Debbie in the eye with a grin, this dark, sharp thing, and _oh no,_ Daphne is going to either kill them or kill herself. “I can think of something to do,” she says.

“Mm,” Debbie replies, smiling back, and Daphne breaks in before it can go any further. “Excuse me, I’m right fucking here.”

“We know,” Lou answers, and turns her gaze to Daphne, reaching out one hand. “Invitation extends to you too.”

 _Oh._ Daphne stands there for a second, gaping, while both of them look at her - really _look_ at her, like they want her, like they _both_ want her. Oh. She swallows hard, the heat pooling between her thighs, and just steps forward in answer, because the only thing that’s coming out of her mouth if she opens it is a moan and that might be embarrassing. She slides her hand into Lou’s, and Lou tugs her down to join them, pulling her right into a kiss. 

She’s a very, very good kisser, just the right amount of tongue and teeth, pressure, and it distracts Daphne so much that she doesn’t even notice Debbie’s sliding to the floor and between her legs and pushing her shirt up, pressing her lips above Daphne’s navel, moving upward in time with her hands. “Shirt off, Daph.” 

She untangles herself from the kiss - and the shirt too - and they get their clothes off and _wow,_ for a hot five seconds Daphne is incapable of doing anything but stare at the planes and curves of their bodies, because Debbie and Lou are _gorgeous._

“Stop staring and do something,” Debbie says playfully, leaning in and cupping Daphne’s breasts, thumbs tracing circles around her nipples, mouth open against the expanse of Daphne’s throat. She seats herself comfortably in Daphne’s lap and Daphne can feel her, wet against her own thigh. Lou works her way in beside both of them, one hand sliding between Debbie’s legs and the other between Daphne’s. Daphne has a moment to admire the coordination and focus that takes before Lou actually starts fucking her in earnest and she loses all higher brain function entirely. 

“I told you she would be a screamer,” Lou says, sounding amused as she leans over to press her lips against the back of Debbie’s neck, her spine, her shoulderblades. “She’s loud.” Lou glides her thumb over Daphne’s clit. “Shh, you don’t want us to get caught by a SWAT team.” 

Well, Daphne’s so fucking sorry it’s hard to keep it down when she has Lou’s fingers in her cunt and Debbie’s mouth on her tits, but she admittedly sees the wisdom in that and tries to mash her teeth together to stop any sound leaving her mouth. It’s an effort, that. She’s not even sure where she’s putting her hands but from the way Debbie and Lou are moaning and softly panting she supposes she’s doing alright. 

She thinks hours must fade by, just like that, with Debbie and Lou working in tandem to bring her to climax. It’s probably closer to fifteen or twenty minutes but it just feels so good, getting lost in the sensation, the sounds. She swears when she comes, trying to keep her voice low and mostly failing, to Lou’s soft laughter, to Debbie’s satisfied sigh. 

“Shit,” Daphne begins, and then Nine Ball’s voice comes over the comms, frosty and exasperated. “If you three are done, the coast is clear. Amita and Constance are driving up to meet you. Follow the original exit plan.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Daphne yelps, because _right,_ Nine Ball was on their comms, and oh my _god,_ did she - 

“On our way,” Lou says serenely, like their teammate didn’t just hear the three of them having sex in a closet in the middle of a job. She reaches for their discarded clothes, and tosses Daphne’s over to her. “Come on, let’s go, chop chop.” 

The exit is smooth, and they bundle into the van with no issues and with Lou’s new snow globe safely in her hands. Constance smirks smugly at them where she’s sitting in the passenger seat. “Had a good time?”

This time, even Debbie and Lou stare. “Wait, were you on the - “

“The comm link? Yes, we fucking were,” Amita sighs, gunning it. “Nine Ball didn’t turn it off because she couldn’t risk losing communications with you in case they came to sweep the twentieth floor, and I turned mine off, but Constance kept hers on and threw it on loudspeaker.” She glares at Constance, who grins back unapologetically. “Admit it, it was hilarious. And fun.”

“Okay, I’m officially retiring from criminal activity,” Daphne proclaims, knocking her head once or twice against the wall of the van. 

“Like you didn’t enjoy that,” Lou teases, which is fair, and Daphne feels her face heat up. Debbie leans in closer, so Amita and Constance can’t hear. “We don’t need to be in a closet the next time we do that.” 

Which sounds like a way better plan, no hiding from SWAT teams necessary, and Daphne’s already looking forward to that, thank you very much.


	30. daphne x rose - twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'anything with rose is great preferably with daphne' + **ifanyonehurtyou** \- 'not picky about the pairing, but... someone getting spanked? maybe some teacher/student roleplay in there? i'm going to hell'. me too buddy, me too. 
> 
> tags: roleplay mention, spanking, fingering, punishment kink, praise kink, porn with feelings, #relatable, #tbhiamdaphnekluger

Daphne had hopes - she had _high_ hopes - but honestly, she isn’t really surprised that midway through the scene, Rose just sighs and breaks off her dialogue. “I can’t believe you really made me do this.”

From where she’s _literally_ sprawled over all over Rose’s desk, shoved up against the front of the bed for the purposes of the scene, with her shirt cut low and the dip of her cleavage showing, Daphne glares. “What is with all of you and being complete shit at acting?” It’s supposed to have some bite in it but it comes out more as a whine because she’s horny, okay, and her sex drive has been wild lately - something to do with being surrounded by seven gorgeous women twenty-four-seven, she surmises - and sue her for being more adventurous than most people seem to be. 

“It’s just not my style, alright,” Rose says, pouting a bit. “You know I taught fashion for a while, as a module in college, so the teacher thing is already _weird,_ and back when my nieces and nephews were children I never even thought about spanking them when they did something wrong, or - “

“Please, please, please don’t talk about kids when I’m playing the role of Daphne Kluger, failing college student trying to seduce her professor for an A grade,” Daphne groans in despair, because she loves Rose very much but _seriously,_ if that isn’t a ice bath for her vagina then nothing is. “Look, if we can’t go through with the roleplay, could you at least deal out the spanking?” 

Rose eyes her with this look that feels like it should belong in a counselling office and not in the bedroom. “What is it with you and spanking?” 

Daphne swallows, averts her eyes, doesn’t bring up anything that the question dredges up. “I just like it,” she says, softer and a little more strained than she intends. “I like the pain. I like feeling - I like it more if I know I’m going to get soothed after, which I know you will.” _I like being good,_ she doesn’t say. _I like the fact that the pain makes me feel like I’m absolving for everything I’ve done wrong. I like that -_

“You like giving up control,” Rose completes for her, and the air rushes out of Daphne’s lungs - the sheer _relief,_ at Rose understanding without Daphne needing to say it out loud. She can feel the tears pricking her eyes, and she blinks them away with an effort - there is absolutely no way she’s going to start _crying_ in the middle of a scene. “Oh, Daphne. Okay.” Rose puts two fingers under Daphne’s chin, tips her head up so their eyes meet. “Come here.” 

Daphne goes, lets Rose pull her in close by one wrist. “Strip for me, sweetheart,” she says, soft but with an unmistakeable undercurrent of firmness, and _shit,_ this is what Daphne wants, what she needs, what she’s needed for so long instead of mindless hookups with ugly dudes who don’t care about her pleasure let alone her needs. Rose watches her every move as she unbuttons her shirt, her pants, slides them off her until she’s bare - watches her like she really _sees_ her. 

There’s a few seconds where she just looks at Daphne while she stands there, then she taps her knee, nodding once. She waits there, calmly, while Daphne comes over and eases herself onto her lap, face pressed against the bed. She feels Rose’s palm graze the curve of her spine, move down to cup the swell of her ass, her nails dragging lightly against her flesh. “You want to be punished, Daphne?” She says, voice like a soothing rush of water over rocks. “You want to hurt, and then you want me to tell you that you’re a good girl.” 

Daphne chokes on it, how much she aches for it, wants it. Rose’s other hand rests lightly on her shoulderblade, fanning out against it. “You’re a good girl, Daphne. I know you’ll take it so beautifully for me.” She falls silent, still kneading gently. “How many? Twenty?”

“Yeah, that’s - twenty is good,” Daphne gasps, arching into Rose’s touch. Rose gently pushes her back down again, palm warm against her skin. “Count for me, okay?”

Daphne doesn’t even have time to nod before Rose’s hand is in the air and then coming back down hard against her ass. She feels the impact first, the blow punching the breath out of her lungs, and then the bloom of pain comes - the skin stinging, buzzing, the initial bite of raw pain giving way to a duller ache. It’s good, it’s so good, she _needs_ this. 

“Daphne, I need you to count,” Rose says, her voice cutting through the warm, dizzying haze. Daphne gulps more air, fills her chest, manages to stammer it out. “One.” 

“Good girl,” Rose repeats softly, and Daphne buries her face into the bed, feeling the tears beginning to come. Her hand comes down again and again, and she cries out, her voice muffled by the thick mattress. Her skin is burning, red-hot, radiating to her lower back, her thighs. She knows she’s dripping wet, ruining the sheets beneath her, and all her signals are crossing, the pain, the pleasure. 

She finally gets to twenty, barely able to get the word out without slurring it over her tongue. Rose stops, palm lingering on the abused skin, then slides down lower to cup Daphne’s cunt, her fingers coming up wet. “You took it so well,” she murmurs. “I think you deserve a reward.” 

She rubs her fingers against Daphne’s clit, slides them inside her and curls them and brushes against that sweet spot, the one that makes Daphne tremble. She doesn’t stop whispering about what a good girl Daphne is, and she thinks that, more than anything is what makes her shudder out a mind-blowing orgasm, better than anything she’s had in months. 

She thinks she _maybe_ blacks out for a bit because the next thing she knows, she’s curled up in Rose’s arms along the further side of the bed, and Rose’s stroking her hair. “Back with me?”

Daphne nods, not trusting herself to words at the moment. Rose presses a gentle kiss to her temple. “Feel good?” She pauses, voice taking on a softer tone. “You want to talk about it?”

And for the first time in - _so_ long, Daphne feels like the answer is _yes,_ she does want to talk about it, because she trusts her, she trusts _them,_ and she’s so tired of carrying that hurt in her chest. 

“Later,” she says, and means it, and Rose understands, of course, of _course,_ just lets her lean in, holds her tight. “Later, then,” she agrees, and Daphne lets herself close her eyes, hold on, feel safe.


	31. amita x constance - security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: future fic, canon compliant (...mostly), making out, scissoring, oral sex, masturbation, fingering

It’s shocking how similar fancy rich well-dressed French men are to not-so-fancy, not-so-rich, and definitely not-so-well-dressed New York men. The sad thing is that Amita really isn’t even surprised, after a long string of bad dates. She’d jet-setted around a couple dream travel destinations she’d always wanted to visit after the furore around the heist died down, and the places never disappoint her, but the dates sure as hell do. 

She’s idly wondering if it’s just her and something about her that draws the shitty guys towards her like a lodestone when her date of the night propositions her very blatantly and makes more than one crude sex joke within one breath. She doesn’t stab him with her fork but it’s a near thing. As it is, smiling politely and telling him she’s not interested and calling for the cheque just leads to an ugly sneer changing his entire expression and a whole lot of name-calling that he begins to start on. Okay, slightly worrying. She can handle herself, but for all means and purposes she’s also alone in a foreign country and her hackles are starting to rise and she’s thinking of calling for security - 

Which is when someone steps in from behind her and intervenes. It’s practically a flash of movement, and then suddenly someone in a very nice suit has their hand firmly set on her date’s shoulder, not threatening but close to. “Hey, buddy. You maybe want to step outside before things get ugly?”

He whips around to glare, trying - and looking a bit taken aback when he fails - to shake the hand off. “Who the hell are you?”

“Security,” comes the cool, collected answer, and the next moment, the person steps a ways out of the shadow, grabs Amita’s date by the collar, and hauls him out of the restaurant in full view of all the other patrons. They disappear out of the door, leaving a shell-shocked Amita to sit there wondering _what the hell just happened._

But not for long. Security - _security?!_ with a question mark - returns with a satisfied smile and comes to Amita’s side and gives Amita a chance to look at them properly and that’s when her jaw basically just meets the floor, because - 

_“Constance?!”_

“In the flesh,” Constance answers breezily, like she didn’t just appear out of thin fucking air and throw Amita’s date out of a restaurant that she’s pretty sure doesn’t actually have her on the payroll when she’s supposed to be in a swanky apartment in New York. “Don’t worry about that cockroach any more, by the way. He’s dealt with.” 

Sometimes Constance scares the living shit out of Amita, with how cute and harmless she can look, that slight stature and open expression, and how it hides such danger within her. And how she can go from light to dark and back to light again in seconds. There she is, switching back to jaunty camaraderie again. “Sorry not sorry that I ruined your date. How about drinks? There’s a nice bar a block down, my treat. Your bill’s already settled, come on, let’s go.”

“Could we maybe start with how you are in France when I could have sworn you geotagged your Instagram story as Queens just twelve hours ago,” Amita says, but gets up to follow her anyway. 

 

 

They do go to the bar and they do stop for drinks, which are exorbitant but completely divine and also apparently fully paid for. Amita doesn’t want to question it too much. Constance orders for both of them and beautiful bartenders hand them sublime concoctions and the music is good, the atmosphere is smoky, the conversation flows. Constance makes her laugh, makes her feel comfortable, and she realises, about an hour in, that she really doesn’t want the night to end - not here at this bar, anyway. 

Something about the night, the string of bad dates, the way Constance swooped in like some cross between fairy godmother and avenging angel, makes Amita want to be daring, want to be reckless. She leans in closer, lets herself ask again, but with greater weight. “Constance, why are you here in France?”

And Constance tilts her head a little, looks at her with another question in her eyes, even as she’s answering Amita’s. “I came for you.”

Amita very badly wants to make a dirty joke about coming for Constance instead, but nixes the idea in favour of glancing towards the door. “I booked my stay in a really nice hotel. You want to stay the night?” 

Constance leans in, mouth so tantalisingly close to the shell of her ear, and Amita shivers. “Lead the way.”

 

 

Amita won’t lie - the heat simmers under her skin even before they leave the bar and how they manage to get a taxi back to the hotel and take the elevator up to the suite without touching each other, she will never know. The moment the door is locked behind them, Constance is pushing her up against it and sliding their mouths together, licking into Amita’s eagerly, and frankly, Amita’s not complaining. Not until her back starts aching a little bit, and when she says so, Constance tugs both of them towards the bed, pretty much drapes herself backfirst over it with this come hither look in her eye, which may or may not kill Amita by the end of the night. 

They kiss some more, Constance cupping her face and Amita lying right on top of her, and if she’s going to be brutally honest it’s already better than some of the sex she’s ever had. Not that she doesn’t want sex, she definitely wants to get laid tonight. 

Evidently, so does Constance, who works her way down Amita’s thigh and up the hem of her dress to touch her, to grind the heel of her hand against Amita’s clit. She kind of jerks into the touch, craving more, _needing._

And Constance - blessed, brilliant Constance - flips them over, pins Amita’s wrists to the bed with one hand and tugs her underwear off with the other. Keeps her eyes locked on Amita’s while she gets her own pants off, puts her hand under one ankle, lifts her leg, higher, higher. Presses the hot seam of her cunt against Amita’s own, and _oh wow,_ okay, what is that, what is this even, she did not even conceive that anything could ever feel this good, and holy shit, how much experience does Constance have under her belt, literally? 

She doesn’t go at it long - it looks tiring as all hell, the sweat breaking out on her forehead and her gasps sounding strained, and having her leg up is definitely not fun and games for Amita either, but when Constance lets go and bends her head to work her tongue against Amita’s clit instead, she is _definitely_ not bitching about it. She just manages to prop her head up to see Constance’s hand between her own legs, fingerfucking herself to climax, and Amita just thinks about those fingers inside her, spreading her open, filling her, and sees stars. 

Constance is still getting herself off when Amita comes back to herself, which is frankly unacceptable. “Hey,” she says, catching Constance’s eye, her expression a little wild and needy. “Come on, come here, let me.” 

“Mm, god, yes,” Constance moans, almost falling over herself to come to Amita’s side and let her push her fingers inside, and she doesn’t stop using her own, and Amita can’t take her eyes off the way their hands slide against each other, stretching Constance, and she just unfurls, coming on her hand - both their hands - and gasping in delirious pleasure. She smiles at Amita as she shudders through it, looking so punch-drunk on it, and Amita firmly decides right then and there - no more bad dates, no more dumb guys, just a beautiful suite and the cityscape out of the window and a bed big enough for two, at least for now, and maybe, hopefully, for a damn lot longer. 


	32. debbie x lou - bets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'debbie gets annoyed at lou's incessant smirking (lou won an argument against her or something to get debbie riled up) so fingers/fists lou hard in an attempt to wipe the smirk off her face'.
> 
> tags: future fic, background constance x daphne, fingering, fisting, masturbation, porn with feelings

Debbie Ocean has the soul of a gambler. It comes with the territory - every con, every job is a gamble, the stakes just generally higher than most games people play. Lou’s lost count of the number of free snacks she’s gotten because she dangled a childish little bet in front of Debbie and then won the pot. It’s their life. 

It’s why she isn’t surprised when, a month after the heist, they’re sitting on the sofa and Debbie leans in to whisper in her ear. “Hey. Ten bucks says that Daphne and Rose hook up by the end of summer.” 

Lou, who has seen the way Daphne laughs with Rose and rests her head on her shoulder during movie marathons but whose gaze lingers on Constance when she thinks nobody else is looking, sips her wine thoughtfully. “For someone with thirty million dollars in an offshore account, you’re cheap.” 

Debbie elbows her hard in the ribs. “Fifteen bucks, and you’re just saying that because you’ll lose.”

“You’re on, Ocean,” Lou replies, and leans back against the pillows, grinning.

 

 

Two weeks later, Debbie goes to their backyard pool for a midnight dip and finds Constance and Daphne making out in the water. When she hurriedly strides back into the house, she finds Lou leaning smugly against the hallway wall. “Pay up.” 

Debbie narrows her eyes at her - at Lou’s complacent smirk, the gloating expression. “You’re actually the worst.”

“I’m also fifteen dollars richer,” Lou shoots back. “Now where’s your safe?”

 

 

Lou does not stop smirking, from the moment they meet in the hall, to the point Debbie walks back to her room (glowering all the while), and when she unlocks her room safe, counts out fifteen dollars in notes, and hands them to Lou. It’s aggravating. 

“Out of curiosity, how many times do you intend to lose money to me?” Lou asks cheerfully, fanning out her money. “If I remember my percentages correctly, in our fifteen years of friendship you’ve lost eighty percent of your bets with me. If this is going to be a trend, I’m sticking around.” 

And Debbie’s not going to lie - that stings a bit, strikes her where it hurts, because it comes with that underlying implication that Lou was thinking about leaving at all. It makes her absurdly upset, a little angry, even, and the room is dark and the night is quiet and suddenly there’s nothing more that Debbie wants to do than wipe the smirk off Lou’s mouth, any way she knows how - 

they’re kissing before she even realises she’s moved at all, taken a step closer to wrap one arm around Lou’s waist, pull her in, crash their mouths together. Lou sighs and melts into her, all the confidence and arrogance slipping away in an instant as she loops her arms around Debbie’s neck and kisses her back. 

“You’re just so cocky,” Debbie says, when they break apart. With Lou still firmly in her grasp she pulls them both towards the bed, the journey halting and jerky as she simultaneously tries to undo Lou’s pants, unbutton her shirt. “It drives me fucking crazy sometimes.”

Lou looks at her, this expression of ferocious, honest desire on her face. “You drive me crazy,” she replies, pressing her mouth against Debbie’s neck, the curve of her jaw, insistent. “You make me so - you make me _want,_ all the time.”

Debbie tugs her on top of her, knees on either side of her stomach, one hand slipping into her underwear, two fingers spreading her folds. “Make you want _what,_ Lou?” 

Lou won their bet but she knows Debbie’s got the upper hand here and Debbie knows it too. She grits her teeth, knowing Debbie won’t continue her ministrations unless Lou says it out loud. “I want you.” 

“Vague answer,” Debbie comments, slowly dragging her hand back out, and Lou’s own flashes out to grab her wrist. “I want your hand on me. Your fingers inside me, spreading me open. Filling me up. Just fucking into me and making me come.” 

Even in the barest sliver of moonlight, Lou can see Debbie’s pupils begin to blow, wetting her lips with a quick swipe of her tongue. “Yeah, baby,” she says, dulcet but possessive. “And you know I’ll always make you feel good, right? You know I’m the only one.”

“The only one,” Lou agrees, tripping over the words, just a little, as Debbie pushes two fingers inside her, teases her with the tip of another. “Oh fuck, Debbie, yes, _more,_ please - “

And Debbie loves this - loves that Lou will talk back to her, will challenge her when she’s wrong, will take none of her shit and never lie to spare her ego, will hold her to her word and take her money when she wins her bets and never gives Debbie the leeway to be any less than her very best. Loves that she is all of that and will still let all her shields down when they’re together, will beg freely and open herself up to Debbie, just like this. She eases another finger inside Lou, and another, relishing the way Lou grinds down on her hand, head thrown back, moaning her name, again and again. 

“Can you take my whole hand?” Debbie asks softly, and Lou tips her head back down so she can face Debbie, mouth open and panting hard. She nods, which Debbie takes as her cue to slide her fingers back out, tuck them tight against each other, then press her hand back against Lou - push in, gentle, careful, marvel at the stretch, how Lou just blooms open for her, how she takes it, jaw clenched. 

They never do this often and Lou never comes with Debbie’s hand inside her - the burn too intense and too overwhelming - but it’s incredible nonetheless, for both of them. Debbie doesn’t move, just lets Lou grind in minute little movements, before she sighs and taps Debbie’s hip three times. Debbie slides her hand back out and lets Lou replace them with her own fingers, fucking herself to climax. 

The previously persistent, smug smirk is completely gone from her countenance, replaced by a dazed, content smile. Debbie puts an arm around Lou’s waist, rests her hand against the small of her back. “Still think fifteen bucks was too cheap?”

Lou rolls her eyes, leaning down to kiss her. “Devious little shit.” 

“Pot and kettle,” Debbie shoots back, kissing her back, the way she wants to for the rest of her life. “Stay with me? With us? Not just to take my hard-won money until the day we die, but - just to be here.” 

Lou’s expression softens entirely, and she strokes Debbie’s cheek with a tenderness everyone else rarely sees. “Oh, Deb,” she says, quiet and genuine and full of undisguised love. “I could never ever leave.” 


	33. daphne x tammy - brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **ellequinzel** \- 'tammy  & daphne. daphne being a brat all week, constantly interrupting tammy & acting spoiled to the point when tammy just throws daphne over her knee & spanks her. maybe tammy's a little horrified with herself at first because they aren't a couple, but daphne tells her not to stop'.
> 
> tags: brat!daphne, spanking, fingering, porn with feelings, _kind of_ edging on ageplay but not really?

Daphne Kluger is many things - an acclaimed actress, successful model, Hollywood’s angel - but, as the girls slowly come to learn, she is also an only child whose childhood was steeped in the toxicity of show business and has approximately zero real friends who would deign to stick around if she ever fell from grace. For the longest time, she’s been forced to grow up faster than she should have, while still turning on the innocent, childlike charm when called for, to wear a mask wherever she goes and only ever show the world what they want to see. 

It means that she’s whip-smart, observant, and charming. It also means that she can be completely oblivious and downright bratty at times. She manages to make Nine Ball snap at her and hurt Constance’s feelings - Constance, who doesn’t give a _shit_ \- and it isn’t always easy going when they first all start settling into what they’ll come to call a home together, but the thing that redeems her for all of them is that she tries. She _really_ tries - when she fucks up, she works out why and how she hurt people and figures out how to fix it. It’s sincere and fervent about it, even if she slips up sometimes, so they try to give her space, time, understanding, as she figures out her brave new world.

 

 

It’s why, the week Tammy’s left alone in the house with Daphne while all of the others are away for some reason or another, she tries. Daphne’s been away on a shoot for half a month, gets home the morning Rose flies off to a meeting with some investors, and storms into the house looking stressed and frustrated. She broods in her room until dinner and Tammy just goes about as normal and waits for it to blow over.

Only it doesn’t. Daphne remains in the foulest of moods for the entire week, slamming doors and bitching about the pettiest things and losing her shit at the slightest provocation. Tammy tries to ignore it - she’s seen some stuff on the tabloids that kind of explains why Daphne’s so rightfully upset and moody - but it comes to a head the night she peeps into Daphne’s room and announces that dinner’s on the table. 

“Not hungry,” Daphne snaps tersely, still paging through a script. Tammy sighs, letting some of her irritation bleed into her words. “You haven’t eaten all day, and I’m worried about you. And the food’s been cooked, so - “ She’s interrupted as Daphne takes the script and flings the entire thing against the wall. “I said I’m not fucking hungry, will you leave me the fuck alone? Did I _ask_ you to cook for me? Jesus.” 

And honestly, that is the fucking limit. Tammy spent a lot of her youth being a snotty, disrespectful, rebellious little shit, and she sees so much of her younger self in Daphne right now that something in her just snaps and she fucking hits the ceiling. She’s at Daphne’s side in the space of two seconds, seating herself on the bed and grabbing Daphne’s arm, pulling her onto her lap and holding her down, the way she remembers being grabbed, pulled, held herself - 

“What the fuck,” Daphne demands, and Tammy cuts her off, her voice steelier than she ever thought she could make it. “You want to act like a fucking child? You get punished like one.” 

The flat of her hand is coming down on Daphne’s thigh before she can even really think through what she’s doing, the crack of the slap ricocheting like a shot around the room. Daphne cries out, humiliation and shock and pain mingling together in the sound, and it just - lights something up inside Tammy, something dark and buried and aching. 

Her hand is _burning_ by the time Daphne’s voice registers again, her gasping pleas. “Tammy,” she says, rough and high, and somehow it just breaks the spell - hearing her name, Daphne’s ragged whimper. She stops her hand in mid-air, and drops it to her side, the sudden terror welling in her throat. “Daphne - shit - oh god, I didn’t - “

“No,” Daphne interrupts, looking up at her with wet eyes, but a determined expression. “Don’t stop. Please.” She heaves a breath, and it sounds shaky, but she sounds so _found,_ so relieved. “Please, I need - I need it.” 

Tammy casts her glance over the pale red blossoming over Daphne’s skin, how hot it is to the touch, the tears beginning to fall, and something less familiar clenches inside her chest. Gently she strokes her fingertips against Daphne’s ass, up to the small of her back, then goes for another slap, right against where the flesh looks reddest. Daphne seizes up, then exhales, hard, needy. 

“Is this why you’ve been acting like such a brat the whole week?” Tammy asks softly, between each slap. “Why are you so angry? Why are you holding on so tight to that? You can let go, Daphne. You’re allowed.” She skates her hand lower to dip two fingers inside Daphne. “It’s okay.” 

“I don’t,” Daphne begins, then goes quiet, the silence hanging heavy, punctuated by the hitches in her breath every time Tammy fucks back into her. Tammy keeps up a slow, steady rhythm, watching Daphne’s expression closely. “You don’t know how? You just let it brim and brim, and take whatever punishment you’re given, and that’s the safety valve?” 

Daphne nods, tight and looking so achingly grateful, and Tammy responds with a soft, understanding murmur. “We can teach you. All of us. You just have to let us, okay? Like that.” She speeds up her movements, strokes Daphne’s clit. “Let go for me, sweetheart.”

Daphne lets go - shivers and shakes through her climax, doesn’t protest when Tammy adjusts her position so they’re leaning into each other on her bed. She looks a little wrecked - strands of hair sticking to her face, tear-tracks on her cheeks, but the tension is gone from her muscles. Her breathing slows as Tammy skims her hand down her spine, soothing. “You’re okay, you’re okay.” 

“Sorry,” she chokes out, sincerely sounding it. “I’m sorry I’ve been so - I’m sorry.” 

Tammy presses her lips against Daphne’s temple. “We can talk about it later. Go take a shower and come out for dinner, okay?” She doesn’t move until Daphne nods and whispers a quiet thanks. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

They will talk about it, properly, over a good meal - but that’s after, and for now, Daphne just lingers in the embrace, lets herself feel safe, holds on.


	34. daphne x lou - lead the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **themoviegeekstrikesback** \- 'can you do a daphne/lou chapter where they pretend not to know each other  & seduce each other throughout dinner before going home & having sex, with maybe daphne taking the reins this time?' 
> 
> ok guys i just want to say that so many people requested for daphne x lou & i WROTE so much daphne x lou that now i legitimately ship the shit out of them. thanks everybody it is ur fault. i love them so much i am so gay for this dynamic. which is why it gets so soft at the end.
> 
> tags: stranger roleplay, seduction, established relationship, top-implied-switch daphne, bottom-implied-switch lou, implied oral fixation, fingering, oral sex, porn with FEELINGS

Daphne Kluger is used to getting what she wants.

Sometimes it feels like her entire career revolves around this, her entire life. Never accepting failure, never letting herself slack off and be anything but the best. She gets what she wants - not by whining, not by playing on people’s pity or exasperation, but by putting her nose to the grindstone. By being absolutely clear about what she wants and the steps she will take to get it. By always looking up, forward, walking with confidence, and going after things, and when she gets her hands on them, digging her heels in and hanging on. It has gotten her a successful career and stacks of money and good friends, and it will get her the beautiful woman standing by the bar sipping on her martini.

The woman is blonde, with pale blue eyes and a gorgeous curve to her jawline. She’s in a powder blue suit and exudes power with every movement. 

Daphne _wants_ this woman. Wants her enough to call the bartender over, hand him a couple of bills. “Another one for her. On me.”

He takes her money, makes the drink, serves it. Daphne watches as the woman takes the cocktail with amused interest, leaning in to speak to him. He replies, and the woman turns to look at her, on the other end of the bar. Daphne lifts her chin and smiles, unflinching, feels a thrill of excitement when she gets off her chair and comes over. She lifts her glass, eyeing Daphne’s own. “Thank you.” 

Daphne touches her champagne glass to hers in reply. “You looked like you could use another.”

“I do,” she answers merrily, reaching out her free hand. “My name’s Lou. And who might my benefactor be?”

“I’m Daphne.” She takes Lou’s hand and brings it to her lips, brushing them against her knuckles. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

 

Lou stays by her seat with her drink, orders another when Daphne’s glass runs low - to make them even, she says with a roguish wink. They talk and they flirt and Daphne pulls out all the stops, uses her entire body to telegraph her interest. As the night goes on, her observant eye picks out all the ways Lou’s responding - leaning in, laughing and lingering, touching her lips. 

She’s going home with Daphne tonight.

It draws close to midnight when Daphne finally signals for her bill, reaching over to touch her fingertips against the back of Lou’s hand. “If you’d be so inclined, I live not too far from here,” she says, keeping her eyes on Lou’s mouth the whole time. “We can continue this stimulating conversation.”

Lou smiles, getting up from her seat. “If you would just lead the way.”

 

 

It takes reaching the front gate for Lou to break character, which honestly is longer than Daphne would’ve expected, so kudos to her for that. She leans against the porch swing and laughs for a good minute. 

 _“Stimulating_ conversation,” she says, mimicking Daphne’s Seduction Voice. “Was that on purpose? I nearly just fell apart laughing right then and there.” 

Daphne glares at her and smacks her lightly on the arm. “Excuse me, you’re still supposed to be pretending we don’t know each other and I brought you back to my house for a one-night-stand. Keep it together!” 

“It’s a bit hard to do that when _I_ opened the gate with _my_ key,” Lou snips back, but presses up against her, getting into her space. “Come on, baby, the playing pretend was _torturous._ I just wanted to drag you to the bathroom and fuck you right there.”

“No,” Daphne says, more firmly than she usually is, because she _wants_ this, damn it. “Tonight is my night. And tonight, I get to take the reins.” With one sudden movement she knocks Lou back against the front door, pins her to it with both hands. “Tonight, I fuck you. Not the other way around.”

Lou’s eyes flare with arousal, with delight, with rabid interest. “Okay,” she agrees softly. “I’m all yours.” 

“Yeah, Lou,” Daphne replies, unlocking the front door and pulling both of them inside. “You are.”

 

 

They end up on their bed, with Lou beneath Daphne, which is… not the usual, and Daphne will be the first to admit that it’s a little strange, but not in a bad way. Daphne has two fingers in Lou’s mouth, watching with fascination as Lou sucks on them, her tongue tracing the ridges of her skin. It feels nice, and she just luxuriates in the feeling for a while, before finally pulling them away and bringing them between Lou’s thighs, opening her up with them. Daphne fucks Lou slowly on her fingers, doesn’t take her eyes off Lou’s face, the way she closes her eyes and bites her bottom lip and tips her head back. She doesn’t make a sound, but looks blissed-out anyway, and it’s enough for Daphne to know she’s enjoying it. 

Her orgasm - only the first of the night, Daphne is determined - hits slow but it hits hard, and Daphne can tell by the way her limbs go a little boneless, the way she sinks a little further into the sheets, the mattress. She finally opens her eyes again, looking at Daphne with a fond smile. “That was nice.”

Daphne makes a hum of agreement, straightening up and adjusting her position so she’s this close to straddling Lou’s face. “I want your mouth.”

“It wants you too,” quips Lou, smartass that she is. Daphne rolls her eyes and pretends she isn’t smiling in amusement as she seats herself, as Lou starts licking into her, zealous. She’s got all these dirty tricks she can do with her tongue and she uses every one in her arsenal, until Daphne’s helpless but to grind against her mouth, her chin, the pleasure building up and up, the heat searing below her stomach - 

Lou flattens her tongue against her clit and licks slow, purposeful, and Daphne’s entire universe narrows, whitens, explodes. She comes undone, unfurling, and it’s like everything just disappears but her, and Lou, and _them,_ always them, the only things in her world. 

Even in the post-sex haze, she can think straight enough to kind of just… flop over next to Lou on their bed, curling up against her side, sighing in satisfaction. Lou laughs softly, bringing her hand up to stroke her hair. “Good?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Daphne looks up at her, grinning. “This is a break, by the way, not the end of the night. Oh my god, we should do this more often.” 

Lou goes quiet, for longer than Daphne thinks she would, and the smile slips from her face. “You okay?”

“I was just thinking,” Lou says, expression trying for neutral but mostly landing on troubled. “Wondering what would have happened if you’d never caught on to our plan. If you’d never joined us. If this had never happened.” She gestures briefly at the two of them, wrapped up in each other. “If our play-acting had really happened - if I had been drinking alone in a bar and you had seen me. Would you have bought me that drink? Would we have talked? Would we have gone home together?”

Daphne cups Lou’s face, looking right at her. “The answer to all of those questions is yes,” she replies, quiet and sincere. “It would have been the same in every world. In every life. In every universe, I would find you, meet you, fall in love. I promise.” 

Lou’s eyes water and she blinks the tears away, pulling Daphne close to kiss her. “This world, this life, this universe is enough.” 

“It is,” Daphne agrees, and kisses her back.


	35. amita x constance - dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tags: not canon compliant, missing scene, humour, implied established relationship, semi-public sex, oral sex, fingering, quickie
> 
> GUYS I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT "okay, so, i got beef" / "i thought you were vegetarian" is my FAVOURITE line that i have ever written please appreciate it i just find it so funny i personally feel it is the peak of my writing ability

Five minutes before the delivery truck arrives at its destination, Constance pipes up in the silence, a frown on her face. “Okay, so, I got beef.”

Debbie gives her a puzzled look. “I thought you were vegetarian.”

With admirable synchronity, Nine Ball and Constance roll their eyes. Lou chokes back a snort of laughter. “Cut her some slack, she was in prison for five years. Yes, Constance, what’s your issue?” 

With her serious face on, Constance puts her hands on her knees, leaning forward and pointing as she speaks. “See, Debbie’s pretending to be some German philanthropist or who the fuck ever and she gets fancy soup for dinner, right? And Rose does too, ‘cause she’s with Daphne. Tammy, you had your nice catered early dinner at Vogue. Nine Ball, you’re in the truck with Lou, so both of you get to have, like, tacos, at least.” She narrows her eyes. “But Amita and I get stuck with cafeteria shit?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s not ‘cafeteria shit’,” Debbie says, looking pained. “All of the staff get prepackaged meals from the same caterer that’s serving up the Gala itself, so it’s not going to be foie gras but it will at least be palatable. Also, I reserved a table at a really good kebab place near headquarters. We’ll rendezvous there after the Gala lets out, and you guys can eat as much of the good stuff as you want.”

“Sweet,” Constance says, looking satisfied. “Is that gonna come with my Metrocard?”

 

 

Later, in the staff canteen, she and Amita are finishing up their boxed dinners and heading over to the bins to toss the trash. “I can’t believe you were worrying about food,” Amita says to her, under her breath. “We’re here to commit _robbery.”_

“My taste is discerning, man. And if I don’t eat right, I can’t think right, and if I can’t think right we’re all in the shit,” Constance whispers back. Amita rolls her eyes, but smirks. “Your taste? _Discerning?_ Yesterday I saw you pour black coffee into your Lucky Charms because we ran out of milk.”

“Excuse me, it’s a winning combination.” Constance drops her tone another timbre, raising one eyebrow mischievously and pressing her shoulder against Amita’s. “Also, you complaining about my taste in sexual partners too?”

Amita glances around quickly, giving her a glare. “Constance, again, we are here to _commit a robbery.”_

“Yeah, and we don’t start for another hour. Come on, your bathroom’s right around the corner.” 

“Please don’t call it _my bathroom,”_ Amita sighs, but follows behind her.

 

 

“Okay, so, I’m going to eat you out,” Constance says, when they’re enconsced safely in the kitchen bathroom, where Amita will find herself later when the Toussaint arrives with their mule. “Because it’s fine if your clothes get a bit rumpled but not this suit, man. I gotta pour champagne and shit.” 

Okay, it’s not like Amita’s going to bitch about that, even if she would rather be doing this in the comfort of headquarters than with her back against the wall and Constance on her knees on the cold tile floor. 

But the moment Constance puts her mouth on her - the moment she laves her tongue against Amita’s clit and sucks in earnest - honestly, all her other concerns just disappear and her thoughts are limited to nothing but _oh_ and _yes_ and _Constance._ She almost reaches down to slide her hands in Constance’s hair and then remembers, in the nick of time, why this would be a bad idea and would probably get her whined at when Constance needs to redo her ponytail. Instead she grips on to the wall rail, forcing herself to stay still and just revel in the sensations. 

“You totally owe me one,” Constance says, lifting her head and replacing her tongue with her fingers. Amita snorts. “Sure, after kebabs and getting back to headquarters and _stealing the Toussaint.”_

They both laugh, easy and light and comfortable, and Constance leans in for a kiss while she keeps thrusting her fingers inside Amita, bringing her to a quick but deeply satisfying climax. Amita licks into her mouth, one last time, then pulls back with a smirk. “Good enough dinner for you?”

“Lame as hell, you weirdo,” Constance retorts, poking her in the side. “Come on, straighten up your shit and let’s get going.” 

“Admit it, you love me because I’m hilarious.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night. Chop chop, let’s go, and I’ll see you after the heist!” 


	36. lou x tammy - fairytale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **sarcandy** \- 'a domestic  & soft tammy/lou pls????' less sex more fluff idk how it happened it just... did. +5 points for guessing where the kids' names come from.
> 
> tags: future fic, established relationship, domestic fluff, shower sex, morning sex, oral sex, making out, quickie

Lou would never, _ever_ admit it to anyone, but when she was younger - curled up in her bed, hiding under the covers while her parents had screaming fights in the living room over everything and nothing - she used to dream of being Rapunzel. Of having a dashingly gallant prince climb up to her window and take her away to somewhere they could live happily ever after. Even into her adulthood - even after cutting her hair short and growing out of her dresses and figuring out she’d rather have a princess than a prince - she’s always had a soft spot for fairytales. The classics, where everything works out deux-es-machina style and she finds true love and effortless happiness. 

Being a criminal hasn’t exactly been conducive to finding that. Friends are hard enough to find, let alone love. She grows up, steels her spine, keeps putting one foot in front of the other - runs cons, plans jobs, steals and cheats and lies, comes up top and could do it with both hands tied behind her back. But sometimes at night, she still lies in bed and stares at the ceiling and wonders. Wonders if it’s _always_ going to be this way. 

And then Debbie gets out, tells her they need seven people and twenty grand, and her life gets flip-turned upside down.

 

 

She wakes up to sunlight streaming in through a window, tucked into someone’s embrace and their arms snug around her. Lou keeps her breathing deliberately slow, opening her eyes and looking over the face of the person next to her - peaceful from sleep, free from tension, beautiful. 

“You’re up early,” Tammy says, eyes still closed, and Lou laughs, unsurprised. “Well, we are supposed to be at Rose’s show in a matter of hours.”

She hums in acknowledgment, finally deigning to open her eyes and press a quick kiss to Lou’s cheek. “You want the shower first, or…?”

Lou waves one hand lazily. “My mouth tastes like shit. I’ll wash up and join you.”

“Oh, will you,” Tammy teases, sliding out from under the sheets and heading to the bathroom. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

 

 

Five minutes later, Lou’s gone through her morning routine and saunters into the shower, where she can hear the water running and the mirror already steamed up. She lets herself in, putting her arms around Tammy and leaning her cheek against her shoulderblade. The steady tattoo of hot water against her skin feels good, especially this early in the morning. Tammy sighs happily, turning in Lou’s grip to kiss her properly. “Good morning.”

“It is,” Lou agrees, letting her hands roam, fingers skating across Tammy’s sides, her back. “Mm, expanding your shower was the best decision ever.” 

Tammy grins, a mischievous little thing that makes Lou fall even deeper in love, most days. “Yeah? Why’s that?” 

Lou chooses not to answer in words, dropping to her knees instead with her hands on Tammy’s thighs, pushing her back against the wall. With the water still pounding against her back, she puts her mouth on Tammy, alternating between licking up between her folds and sucking on her clit. Tammy groans softly, tangling her fingers through the wet mess of Lou’s long hair, being very careful to keep her feet firmly planted and not lose her balance on the slippery tile. “Shit, Lou - feels so good.” She doesn't tug or pull, just leaves her hand there, and it feels so  _nice,_ makes Lou want to moan out loud. As it is, she just picks up the pace, her hands pressed against Tammy's thighs, thumbs tracing circles into her skin. 

Her knees are aching by the time Tammy comes undone on her tongue, but it is _so_ worth it for the way Tammy looks fondly down at her and swipes her thumb against the edge of Lou’s mouth, stroking her cheek. “You’re amazing.”

“That’s my line,” Lou says firmly, then reaches for the shampoo. “Alright, we’re wasting water, let’s _actually_ shower and get out of here before the kids come knocking.”

Tammy follows suit, and wisely so - not five minutes later, they hear the pummel of little fists against the bathroom door, interrupting a long, tender kiss Tammy sprung on Lou. “Mommy, Mommy? Lou? Are you in there?” 

Lou smirks as Tammy pulls away reluctantly to poke her head past the shower curtain so she can yell in response. “Yes, sweetheart?” 

The voices are muffled from the other side of the door, but still pretty comprehensible. Tony says something about breakfast, drowned out by Taylor clapping insistently and yelling _WAFFLES_ over and over again. Tammy sighs in her familiar longsuffering manner, but she’s smiling anyway. “We’ll be right out, and then we can have waffles, okay? Tony, baby, can you keep an eye on your sister?” 

Lou washes the last of the conditioner out of her hair, turning the water off and stepping out for a towel. “Come on, before they decide to try and cook waffles themselves.”

“Don’t even entertain that thought,” Tammy warns, accepting the fluffy towel Lou hands her and changing out into home clothes. “And don’t think we’re not continuing what you started after breakfast.” With that _very_ delightful statement and one last quick kiss, Tammy strides out of the bathroom double-time to go and make sure the kids aren’t doing anything ridiculous.

Lou lingers a little longer, thinking about fairy tales and happy endings and things coming back to her, but not in guises she ever expected. Tammy’s no prince and she never slayed a wolf for her or woke her from a hundred-year sleep, but she gets the spiders out of the bathroom and kisses her in the morning, and Lou thinks that might be so much better. Thinks of all the times she was in shitty motel rooms while on the run, running over the next job in the back of her mind, wondering if things were always going to _be this way._

They weren’t, and she knows that now, but maybe, just maybe, this is her forever, her happy ending, and it’s so much more than good enough. 

“Lou, babe?” She hears Tammy call from the kitchen, sounding just a bit frazzled. “Do you know where I put the waffle mix?” 

 _And they lived happily ever after,_ Lou thinks, and walks out to join her family.


	37. debbie x lou - waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'lou can't wait for debbie to return so she masturbates without her. debbie overhears and steps in, telling her she's enjoying the show & not to stop. debbie joins her & they masturbate together, but don't touch each other until after'. 
> 
> tags: established relationship, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fingering

_where r u?_

_home soon?_

_i’m bored_

_why are you taking so longggg_

_attachment: 1 image_

Debbie sighs at each buzz of her phone on the passenger seat, glancing at the notifications from Lou. Traffic’s been bad on the way back to Queens, and she’s spent the entire ride _agonising_ about the tubs of ice cream in the trunk and wondering how long the cooler bag can stave off their inevitable ruin. Seriously, when did it become her new normal to run cons with a grocery list on her phone and reusable bags in her car? She’s not complaining (well, much), but some of the things the girls want baffle her sometimes. She spent half an hour in Walmart trying to figure out which shelves half their shit were on, which is why it’s now way past the hour she said she was going to get home.

Stopped at a traffic light, Debbie reaches over for her phone and unlocks it, looking at the texts - at the photo Lou sent. It’s a _very_ artistic nude, the lighting and angle just right - lots of things about Lou that would surprise the girls; she can be a whiny brat if she’s kept waiting too long, she was interested in neurology as a teenager, and she’s got this incredible talent at taking A+ nudes. Debbie is very grateful to benefit from said talent. Heat pools below her stomach as her gaze roams over the picture. She texts back, just two words.

_Soon, baby._

 

 

 _Soon_ isn’t actually that soon, and Debbie’s already on edge and horny as fuck when she finally pulls up in the garage and lets herself into the house. It’s another torturous five minutes where she actually has to put away the groceries, especially the miraculously intact ice cream, before she makes a beeline back to the bedroom. She knocks, lightly, lets herself in, and then just stops dead, her mouth going dry as she takes in the scene - Lou on their bed, reclined against the pillows, legs spread and fucking herself on her fingers.

“Hey,” she rasps huskily, smiling over at Debbie, who barely manages to gather up the brainpower to shut the door behind her and lock it. “I couldn’t wait, so I started without you. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Debbie whispers, absolutely meaning it, because sex with Lou is always great but _god,_ watching her alone on their bed, arching her back and trembling against her own hand, cheeks flushed and breasts heaving - it’s a sight she wants to burn into her brain. Especially when Lou turns to look at her properly, lips parted and breathing erratic. “Want me to keep going?”

Debbie’s pretty sure her brain short-circuits, and she just nods, unable to speak for a good ten seconds. Lou closes her eyes and picks up the pace, and Debbie finally knocks herself out of her stupor to head to where they store their toys, grabbing for her favourite vibe so she can sprawl onto a chair and undo her jeans, holding it against her clit while she keeps her gaze fixed on Lou. The room is quiet but for the buzz of the vibe, Lou's heavy breathing as she curls her fingers inside her wet heat. 

“I thought of you,” Lou murmurs, eyes still shut as she works another finger inside her, right in Debbie’s view. “In your dress, at the Met Gala. And what you wore under it that night. And I just had to, I couldn’t wait.” Her other hand glides over her throat, her breasts, playing with her nipples. “I thought about having your fingers inside me instead of my own.” 

Debbie just watches, avid and hungry, as Lou fucks herself to climax, her entire body quivering. She doesn’t even wait for Lou’s orgasm to entirely subside, just puts the vibrator aside and strides over to the bed, kissing Lou hard and swinging her legs over to straddle her. Lou responds enthusiastically, her hand dipping between Debbie’s thighs. “Did you come?”

“No,” Debbie answers breathlessly. “Only want to come for you.” 

Lou’s eyes shine. “You will, baby,” she says, thrusting into her, and Debbie gasps a little, thrilling at the thought that Lou’s fingers, that were inside her own cunt just seconds ago, are filling her, sliding in so easy, wet from her own climax. She fucks Debbie to perfect, blinding orgasm, and Debbie comes apart for her.

They stay like that for a minute, before Lou speaks again, voice still a little rough. “Considering how long you took, I really hope you got my ice cream.”

Debbie rolls her eyes, unsurprised that this is Lou’s idea of post-coital conversation. “Yes, I did. Although why you would want Magnum when they have an offer on Haagen-Dazs, I will never know.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t listen to the ice cream opinions of somone who went inside a Dairy Queen when there was a Cold Stone Creamery just opposite it,” Lou snips back, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her down beside her, burying her face against the curve of Debbie’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. “Here’s an idea - take me on the grocery run next time.”

“Why, so you can fuck me in the parking lot?” Debbie teases, and Lou raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Would you be averse to the idea?”

No, she would not. Debbie kisses her and Lou smiles into it. “Next week. Mark it on your calendar.”


	38. daphne x tammy - flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **saphne** \- 'would love to see more tammy/daphne possibly jealous daphne bc she thinks debbie is flirting w tammy  & flirting w someone else in retaliation & then possessive sex'. 
> 
> tags: established relationship, jealous sex, possessive sex, biting, marking, fingering, porn with feelings

Debbie and Tammy have history. They have a _lot_ of history. Tammy’s always been perfectly upfront about it - tells Daphne all about them meeting in middle school, running jobs together, even dating for a short period of time. Tells Daphne that _none_ of it applies now because Daphne’s the one she wants, has always wanted without knowing it. 

Which is great and all, only Debbie doesn’t seem to be on the same wavelength. Sometimes, when she talks to Tammy, she leans in close - closer than friends should, gaze roaming, her voice warming. Daphne will watch with narrowed eyes as Tammy just keeps talking normally, seeming not to notice. She doesn’t acknowledge the advances or _respond_ to them _,_ which is good, of course, but she also doesn’t explicitly shut Debbie down, which stokes the embers of jealousy in Daphne's heart. 

She knows, rationally, that it’s kind of stupid, but it’s why she passive-aggressively tries to get her own back by flirting with the others herself. She puts her head on Amita’s shoulder when Amita’s at work and laughs at something funny she says. She gets Constance to teach her how to skateboard, letting her put her hands on Daphne’s waist to keep her stable. She gets Rose to re-do her measurements on the pretext of getting a new outfit, and makes sure Tammy’s in sight or in earshot every time.

It takes just a week for Tammy to clamp one firm hand around her wrist when she’s got her head on Nine Ball’s lap while Nine Ball explains some complicated program she’s running on her laptop, to drag her to their room without explanation and lock the door behind them. Her eyes are blazing, the disapproval and annoyance evident in the very way she holds herself. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What am I doing?” Daphne replies, somehow managing to make it sound simultaneously innocent and bratty. Tammy narrows her eyes. “Don’t play coy with me, Daph. You’ve been throwing yourself at the others for a week now. Are you _trying_ to rile me up?”

“I don’t know, are _you?”_ Daphne retorts pointedly. “Debbie’s been flirting with you the whole time too, and you just - let her! What happened to it being ‘over’ and ‘none of that applying now’, huh? You could at least make it clear that I’m here. _I’m_ yours.” 

“You’re mine,” Tammy agrees, pulling her close into a deep, ferocious kiss, dragging both of them towards the bed so she can push Daphne down and pin her to it, pretty much ripping her clothes off without concern for the fabric. Daphne moans and drags her nails down Tammy’s back, digging in as Tammy opens her mouth against the curve of Daphne’s shoulder, to suck and bite down, with the intent to bruise. Daphne feels a thrill at the thought of Tammy marking her up, walking back out into the living room later and showing off the fact that she’s _hers._ That she belongs to Tammy, belongs _with_ her, and vice versa. 

“Debbie _isn’t_ flirting with me, Daph,” Tammy murmurs in her ear, one hand curled in Daphne’s against the pillows and the other spreading her folds, teasing her clit. “And even if she was, it wouldn’t matter, because I meant what I said. You’re the only one I want. You’re more than enough for me, and I _only_ want you.” She pushes two long fingers inside Daphne’s velvet heat, capturing her mouth in a kiss and swallowing down her gasp. “How about you? Can the other girls give you this? Are they the ones you want?”

“N-no,” Daphne stammers, breathing becoming increasingly erratic and rapid as Tammy fucks her with punishing pace. “I just - just wanted to make you jealous. I don’t want them.” 

Tammy’s smile is genuine, if deeply amused. “Devious girl. Well, if that’s what you were trying to do, you succeeded.” Her mouth dips lower, licking at the hollow of Daphne’s throat, her tongue swirling around Daphne’s taut nipples, taking one between her teeth to tug gently. “But it won’t work again, because I know you’re mine, aren’t you? Only mine. Just like I’m all yours.” 

Daphne whimpers out agreement, arching her hips to grind against Tammy’s fingers, crying out with every sweep of Tammy’s tongue against the swell of her breasts. Tammy glides the pad of her thumb against the hard bud of Daphne’s clit, insistent and sure. Daphne screams out her orgasm, Tammy’s name slipping from her lips again and again as she rides it out, the pleasure mixing with pain as Tammy sinks her teeth against her shoulder and doesn’t let up until she goes boneless into the bed. 

“Feeling better?” Tammy asks teasingly when Daphne’s breathing evens out again. Daphne blushes, ducking her head and avoiding Tammy’s warm gaze. “Sorry, I just - I get so stupidly jealous, and I never think - Debbie's gorgeous, and funny, and smart, and I'm just me, and I just get - scared.” 

Tammy strokes her hair back fondly. “I know, darling. But I promise you’re the only one I want, okay? Debbie's gorgeous and funny and smart but you're _you,_ and that's what I want. I meant it. I never even want to look at anybody else.” 

“Me too,” Daphne admits shyly, letting Tammy slide one arm under her legs and drape them over her waist, tucking her close. “Love you.” 

“Love you too.” Tammy kisses her forehead. “Only you. Now and always.” 


	39. daphne x debbie x lou - compete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **chickennuggets** \- 'debbie  & daphne are rivals over lou's attention aka wanting to ride lou's strap. lou takes notice of this & decides to put an end to this rivalry by having the both of them fuck each other & whoever comes last will have lou's strap'. 
> 
> tags: pre-poly, competition, jealousy, voyeurism, fingering, oral sex, strap-ons, penetrative sex, porn with feelings

Three months after successfully robbing Cartier and putting Claude Dogshit Becker in prison, Lou goes to the backyard to smoke and gets cornered by an irritated-looking Tammy. “Lou, fair warning, but if this shit keeps up, either the girls are going to smother you in your sleep or I will.”

Lou raises her eyebrows, stopping mid-puff and bringing her cigarette away from her lips. “Sorry, what?” 

Tammy narrows her eyes further and jabs her _hard_ in the shoulder. “Don’t even try and play dumb. I mean Daphne and Debbie.” 

Ah. Against her better judgment, Lou’s lips curl up in a smile - she has _definitely_ noticed what Tammy’s talking about, what with Daphne and Debbie slowly falling into an absurd but intensely hilarious rivalry to get her attention. Debbie had the upper hand, at first, what with knowing Lou for over a decade, but Daphne’s a crafty, determined little shit who played very deeply into the whole ‘brand new toy’ novelty and the fact that Debbie was taking said upper hand for granted. Debbie saw that unfold, and like a true Ocean, straightened up and dived straight into the shit to go up against Daphne with the intention to win. It’s been idiotic and childish and incredibly entertaining. And - Lou will admit it - very good for the ego. It’s not every day you get two gorgeous women pretty much catfighting like morons to win the privilege of banging you.

Tammy looks _this close_ to strangling her, though, so Lou wisely doesn’t say anything. “Stop smirking. I know it’s funny for you but it is driving the rest of us _insane._ You know how reckless Debbie is, not to mention how juvenile Daphne can be when she’s jealous or competitive. If Debbie drags us into yet another job just to impress you, I swear…” She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales deeply. “Turn down both of them, fuck both of them, knock some sense into both of them, I don’t care. Just _do something.”_

“Okay, okay,” Lou says, layering the words with the soothing tone she knows works on Tammy. “I’ll deal with them. And tell the girls they don’t get to complain if it gets… noisy.”

Tammy flips her the bird.

 

 

All it takes is shooting off two identical text messages and sauntering back to her bedroom to prepare, slinging her harness around her hips and putting the lube on the bedside drawer, then reclining on her armchair until Daphne and Debbie both enter about the same time, glaring suspiciously at each either. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” Daphne demands, squinting aggressively at Debbie, who crosses her arms and meets her gaze unflinchingly. “I could ask you the same thing. Lou sent _me_ a text that said - “

“To come here, I got it too, not that it could be _anything_ but a mistake - “

“Ladies,” Lou interrupts, and they both instantly go quiet and turn to look at her. “It’s not a mistake. I asked both of you to come here, because I have an offer to make, in response to the shenanigans you two have been up to the past three months in order to get my attention and interest. Not that you needed to really bother, I would fuck both of you without hesitation.” She thoroughly enjoys the reaction this gets out of both of them - Debbie’s startled hitch in breath, Daphne’s sudden frown. “But since Tammy and the others seemed to be pissed that I let this get so far and annoy the shit out of them, I’m going to shut it down right here with a game.” Lou pauses, staring both of them dead in the eyes while she unbuttons her jeans and smoothly tugs the strap-on out, beginning to stroke one hand over the length of it. “I want you two on my bed. Fucking each other until you come. Whoever comes first loses. I fuck the winner’s cunt. I fuck the loser’s _face._ Sound good?” 

Daphne makes some sort of strangled noise in the back of her throat, an amalgamation of arousal and desire and stunned shock. Debbie’s pupils blow wide, and she bares her teeth in a grin. “I like it,” she says, voice husky, turning to Daphne and pretty much devouring her with her eyes. “Sounds like everyone wins either way.” 

“That’s what a loser would say,” Daphne retorts, her competitive side taking over and helping her to regain some of her composure. “Get ready to be on your fucking knees, Ocean.”

“We’ll see about that,” says Debbie, and wraps her hand around the back of Daphne’s neck, drags her in to push their mouths together. Lou watches in rapt fascination as Daphne gets her own back by shoving her hard onto the bed, pinning Debbie to it with her arms and bracketing her hips with her thighs. She’s definitely not one to waste time, immediately sliding one hand past Debbie’s waistband to seek out her sex, working her fingers into Debbie’s wet heat. Her movements are bold and frantic, _but_ - 

The _but_ is that Debbie is an Ocean and physically a lot stronger than Daphne is, arms toned with lean muscle, and seconds later she has one hand on Daphne’s wrist, flipping them around so their positions are reversed - Daphne’s back against the bed while Debbie rucks her dress up and licks her through her underwear, just once, making Daphne cry out as she drags them past her ankles, tossing them aside before going right back to what she was doing. She eats Daphne out, loud and messy, and Daphne is already clutching at the sheets. 

“Give it up, Kluger,” Debbie says, lifting her head for a second, cocky smirk on her face. “You’re never going to - “

“A good fighter doesn’t let themselves get distracted,” Daphne says, lightning-fast, and brings her heel down against Debbie’s hip. It isn’t a particularly hard hit, won’t even bruise, but Debbie yelps in surprise, and that brief loss of concentration is enough for Daphne to slide out from under her, moving so quickly and gracefully that Lou doesn’t even realise what she’s doing until she’s got Debbie still face-down against the bed and her head between her legs. She licks into Debbie with her hands on Debbie’s ankles, pushing her legs apart and keeping them firmly locked in place. 

It’s honestly without a doubt the hottest thing Lou’s ever watched. She still has one fist wrapped around the strap-on but her hand is still, her attention too consumed by the scene in front of her. Daphne works fast, focused, uses that clever tongue, and Debbie puts up a pretty good fight, holds herself back for an admirably long time, but then Daphne just sucks on her clit, once, hard, and she’s gone. 

“I win,” Daphne says smugly, straightening up and giving Debbie one last victory smack on her ass. “Told you to be ready.” 

Debbie, _ever_ a gracious loser, turns so she can glare up at Daphne. “You play dirty.”

Daphne doesn’t dispute the point, just sits up on the bed and gives her a pointed look, then turns it on Lou. “Go on. I’ll even let you go first.” 

“Debbie,” Lou says, the first thing out of her mouth since the two of them started to kiss. “Come here.” 

And because it’s Lou, Debbie does as she says, gingerly eases herself off the bed and stands in front of Lou. With a kind of slow, deliberate calm, she sinks to her knees, just looking up at Lou with willingness and some sort of adoration in her eyes, and Lou knows she was right about nobody losing with this game. She stands, noting how Debbie never takes her eyes off the toy as Lou touches her thumb against the edge of her mouth, urging her lips open, just the slightest bit. With her other hand she grasps the toy, feeds the head past them. Daphne’s watching from where she’s still perched on the bed, as the length of the strap-on slides deeper and deeper into Debbie’s mouth until it’s buried all the way to the hilt.

“Jesus,” Daphne rasps, her hand drifting absently up to her throat, and Lou knows she’s just thinking about it, imagining it - being where Debbie is. Lou briefly considers getting both of them to suck her dick in unison and decides to save some things for next time. Instead she cards her fingers through Debbie’s long hair, fingertips brushing against her scalp, lets Debbie adjust to the thick length of the toy in her mouth for a bit. When she deems it enough time, she tightens her grip and starts fucking her face in earnest, controlling the speed, the momentum, closing her eyes and listening to the _sounds_ Debbie’s mouth is making, mingling with Daphne’s breathy moans as she fingers herself on the bed. 

It goes on like that for a while, Lou lost in the feeling of Debbie’s face in her hands and her hips thrusting down her throat, until she sees Daphne fidgeting and squirming on the bed, looking impatient. With a fond sigh, she stops abruptly, pulling the strap-on slowly out of Debbie’s wrecked mouth. “Sit,” she orders firmly, patting the arm of the chair she was in. “Watch.”

She doesn’t wait to see Debbie will obey - she knows she will - and just walks over to the bed, leaning forward to tip Daphne’s chin up and give her a searing kiss. “Hands and knees, facing the chair. Keep your eyes open.” 

Daphne’s eager scramble to follow her orders is actually really cute to watch. Lou leisurely props herself up on the bed, hands on the curve of Daphne’s ass, admiring how wet and open and eager she is for Lou. How easily she takes it when Lou presses the tip of strap-on between her folds, thrusting inside her, inch by inch. Daphne fucks back against her with her every movement, until the toy sinks all the way inside her. 

She can feel Debbie’s burning gaze on both of them, one hand digging into the arm of the chair and the other between her legs, wanting so badly to be _there_ but being confined to where she is. Lou ignores her, doesn’t even look her way as she fucks ruthlessly into Daphne, a brutal, punishing pace that punches the gasps past Daphne’s lips. Her entire body shakes with it, the way Lou fills her, splits her open. Lou leans over her, breasts pressed against Daphne’s back, whispers filthy nothings into her ear, and never lets up for a second. 

Daphne comes riding her, after Lou pulls them both back against the pillows to ease the pressure on her knees. Lays out with her hands against the sheets while Daphne straddles her and grinds down on the strap-on until she comes apart in a screaming orgasm. She melts into Lou’s embrace, the toy still buried inside her, and Lou strokes her hair, finally turning to look at Debbie, expression aching with want. She beckons her over, and Debbie comes on shaky legs, on her knees by Lou’s side. 

“You two,” Lou says affectionately, touching her cheek. “Honestly, you’ll be the death of me. Did you really have to spend three months squabbling like kids when we could have done this earlier? It’s not like you don’t love each other either.”

Daphne agrees in a soft hum, lifting her head from where it’s tucked against Lou’s shoulder to turn to Debbie and give her a soft, lingering kiss. Debbie kisses her back, curling up closer until they’re all tucked together. “I like that. Everybody wins.”

“You’re such a dork,” Daphne says sleepily, but she smiles while she says it. Lou laughs softly, pulling Debbie closer to pillow her head against her chest, letting herself drift slowly off to sleep with her best girls beside her.


	40. nine ball x tammy - stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **casscrim101** \- 'could you do another nine ball x tammy one shot? maybe something sweet  & sexy? maybe nine ball comforting tammy after something happened to her?' 
> 
> tags: future fic, comfort sex, resolved mutual interest, oral sex, fingering, porn with FEELINGS

After the heist, pretty much everyone just… stays. Debbie and Lou settle down to be grossly romantic heist wives - as coined by Constance - and open up headquarters for everyone else. Amita, who came on the heist specifically to leave home, takes up the offer immediately. Daphne decides she wants to learn how to be a criminal, just like all of them, and apprentices herself with the heist wives. Rose and Constance both have plans to move out but take temporary refuge while scouting the property market to find somewhere they’re comfortable with. 

Nine Ball thinks it over for a long time before she decides to follow suit. It helps that Debbie and Lou extended the invite to Veronica, and… it would be nice, to have somewhere to call home. To have friends - to have other people watching over both of them. Being her sister’s guardian means she’s devoted a lot of time to keeping both their heads above water, making sure she can pay her tuition every semester, and aside from that, Veronica’s raised herself quite a bit, too. It would be good for her to have strong female presences in her life other than her big sister, Nine Ball thinks. 

So they stay, and she stays - and Tammy doesn’t. Tammy’s the only one who has a life back home she was always intending to go back to, and Nine Ball thinks they kind of all forgot that in the midst of planning and executing the heist. But Tammy doesn’t forget - she packs her bags, a week after everything is settled, and hugs them all goodbye, promises to keep in touch.

Nine Ball watches her go and feels something ache beneath her ribs, something she refuses to acknowledge or name, something she shoves aside to focus on what she has instead of something she’s losing.

 

 

One month later Debbie and Lou call an emergency house meeting and gather all of them at the dining table, the stress and worry evident on their faces. “Okay, everyone, head’s up. Tammy’s coming over with the kids tomorrow and probably staying for good.”

“Wait, what?” Nine Ball says, and tries to ignore the way some complicated emotion roils in her chest. “What happened?” 

Lou sighs, pressing her palm against her forehead. “Her husband was arrested on the charges of fraud and embezzlement. Which would not be _so_ bad, but he might also be linked to a financially motivated murder. Obviously, Tammy didn’t know _anything_ about this, which is why the authorities want her to keep the kids far away from their father as possible, because it might blow up into a media frenzy.” 

“So she’s coming here, and we want to pull her off the grid,” Debbie says, looking at Nine Ball, who nods firmly. “And just… watch out for her, okay? It’s a big blow, and the kids are so young…”

Everyone murmurs agreement, glancing at each other around the table, but Nine Ball can’t stop - _thinking,_ and wondering, and maybe, just maybe, hoping. 

 

 

“I’m okay,” Tammy says to them, after she arrives and puts her things down and introduces them to her kids. “Really, I’m not - in hindsight, as a criminal myself, there were some signs I should have noticed. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

And she actually _seems_ it, for the _longest_ time. She slips seamlessly right back into their old dynamic and plays with her kids and smiles and laughs and she’s the Tammy they all remember, even after the dreaded headlines start appearing on newspapers and tabloids (everyone takes great pains to keep them well-hidden from the kids). She settles back into the team like she never left, and it’s good, it feels right, but Nine Ball keeps an eye on her anyway.

 

 

She knows she was right to do so when she stays up one night comparing the colleges Veronica’s interested in and goes to the porch for some fresh air, find Tammy crying on the sofa. She stops, not sure what to do. “Tammy?”

Tammy looks up at her, and Nine Ball feels something stick in her throat at the tear-tracks on her cheeks. “Oh, Nine Ball,” she replies, sounding hoarse. “Sorry, I just - “

“It’s okay,” Nine Ball says softly, taking one slow, hesitant step forward. “Can I - ?”

Tammy nods, one quick movement, and Nine Ball’s by her side in a second, sitting down beside her and putting an arm around her. “You okay?” Stupid question, but Tammy replies anyway. “I keep wondering if it was my fault.”

“Hey, none of that,” Nine Ball says sternly. “How would any of this be your fault?” 

She shrugs, leaning into Nine Ball’s embrace, and even considering the context of the situation, it makes Nine Ball’s heart rate speed up a little. “I don’t know. Should I have figured out what was going on earlier? Could I have done anything?” She swallows hard, throat bobbing. “The worst thing is - when I heard, when they told me, I was relieved. The first thing I felt was just - so grateful.” 

There’s more in that statement than she’s saying. The atmosphere suddenly becomes heavier, and Nine Ball can feel her skin tingling. “Why?”

Tammy turns to look her in the eyes. The moonlight is shining through the living room windows, illuminating her blonde hair, the angles of her jaw, and she looks so guilty, but so - _wanting._ “Because in that moment, I knew I could leave,” she says, so softly, like it’s a confession. “The moment they told me, I knew I had my way out. I could come back here, to the team.” There’s a long silence, and then she inhales one long breath. “I could come back to you.”

Nine Ball doesn’t think, doesn’t pause, doesn’t - _anything,_ just leans across and kisses her. Tammy’s hands come up to cup her face, kissing her back for a good minute before pulling away, dropping her head against Nine Ball’s shoulder. “I missed you so much.” 

 _Me too,_ Nine Ball wants to say. _So much. I kept thinking about how I should have kissed you before you left. I kept thinking about how I should have asked you to stay. I kept thinking about whether you would’ve said yes._ All of it just gets lost somewhere in her spleen, and she just leans in, pressing another kiss to Tammy’s temple.

“Stay with me tonight,” Tammy says, an offer, maybe a bit of a plea, and Nine Ball couldn’t say no even if she wanted to.

 

 

She doesn’t expect to fall into Tammy’s bed and have her hands undoing her jeans and tugging her jacket over her head, but Tammy presses her into the mattress and kisses her insistently and Nine Ball just lets herself melt into it, her hands skimming against the expanse of Tammy’s back, the stresses in her spine. Lets Tammy bring her mouth to her throat and suck, leaving blooming redness that will blossom bruise-purple the next morning. Nine Ball cards her fingers through her hair as her mouth dips lower, against one taut nipple, tongue laving across, around, with a fervent energy that tells of desire - the kind that’s been held tight, hidden, for so long, finally allowed to come to light.

“Hey,” Nine Ball says gently, moving her hand forward a little so Tammy’s cheek rests against her palm. “It’s okay. You don’t need to rush. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

Tammy’s eyes shine in the dim light. “Neither am I,” she promises. Her hands drift to Nine Ball’s knees, parting her legs so she can slide between them, licking a trail down to her navel, to her clit, down between her folds and up again. Nine Ball is not ashamed in the least to admit that she moans, loud and more than a little ragged, fingers curling into a fist against Tammy’s scalp and tugging gently. She swears she can _feel_ Tammy’s smile, before she delves right back into her soaking heat. Her hands rest gently on Nine Ball’s thighs, thumbs brushing against the ridge of her hipbones and the dip of her crotch - soft, tender strokes that have Nine Ball whimpering quietly and grinding harder against Tammy’s mouth. 

Tammy brings her over the edge with one finger sliding slow inside her, her tongue swirling against her clit, and her orgasm crests over her, pleasure shooting down every nerve ending. Nine Ball heaves a couple of breaths and doesn’t move as Tammy slowly straightens up, knee-walking back up the bed so she can lie pressed against Nine Ball’s side and kiss her again, let her taste herself on Tammy’s tongue. They keep kissing while Nine Ball slips her hand between Tammy’s legs, stretching her open with two, then three fingers, curling and thrusting steadily, all while Tammy exhales shakily into her mouth, her thighs clenching around Nine Ball’s hand when she finally comes. 

“I was going to kiss you,” Nine Ball says, the haze of orgasm and the late hour making her a little braver, now. “After the heist, before you left. I was going to ask you to stay. Even before everything happened.” She holds her breath, listens to Tammy’s steady heartbeat where Nine Ball’s ear is pressed to her chest. “Would you have stayed?”

“No,” Tammy answers, and Nine Ball feels her stomach drop, until Tammy goes on. “I would’ve gone home, called my lawyer, served papers, and then come straight back.” She tips Nine Ball’s head up so they can look at each other. “I would always have come back to you,” she says, expression open and sincere. “I was already trying to figure out how to - and then it happened, and I got my _how_ served up to me on a platter. But even when I was leaving, when I closed the front door behind me, I already wanted to come back.”

Nine Ball smiles, pressing their foreheads together and pulling Tammy closer. “I’m glad you did. I’m glad you’re staying.”

“Forever,” Tammy adds, and Nine Ball drops another kiss to the edge of her mouth in agreement. “Forever.” 


	41. amita x daphne x rose - brogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **agrumpybearprobably** \- 'i'd love to see two girls where one of them has a deep accent kink for rose's brogue  & the other realises this / i was thinking maybe rose in a voyeur role & talking the other two through a scene' + **becarefulcontentspriceless** \- 'you know what i would love to see? how the gang finds out rose is the toppiest top to ever top' + a tumblr anon - 'more sub daphne/dom rose, maybe with some choking'. yes i combined a lot of prompts because i don't have any more space. 
> 
> tags: future fic, accent kink, voyeurism, choking, fingering, oral sex

Daphne notices, first - she hasn’t become known as the observant one on the team for nothing. Sometimes Rose will lean in to talk to Amita, and her eyes will go dark with barely-hidden desire and her body language just speaks _volumes._

She doesn’t do that with Daphne - well, not _exactly._ She doesn’t even do that consistently with Rose, but Daphne’s smarter than she lets on, alright, and she figures it out pretty quickly. Amita’s attracted, but it’s only when Rose speaks that the _hunger_ really enters her expression, _especially_ when Rose really puts the Irish twang in her speech. 

She gets it. Accent kink, no judgment, and frankly, Daphne can see the appeal herself. Sometimes Rose’ll say something in this particularly sharp tone and Daphne finds herself licking her lips before she can stop herself. 

The thing is, she notices other things, too. The way Amita’s gaze lingers on her, too, and not just Rose. The way Rose carries herself, the glint in her eyes sometimes. She observes, thinks, and starts putting a plan in place.

 

 

“You should screw me,” Daphne says bluntly to Amita, two weeks later, when they’re in the garage on this week’s car-washing duty. Amita, understandably, lets out a yelp of shock and drops her sponge in the bucket. “Sorry, _what?”_

“I _said,_ you should screw me,” Daphne repeats. “Do you really think I haven’t noticed you looking?” 

Amita sputters, turning red. “That’s - I’m not - I didn’t - “ She falls silent as Daphne gives her a long look. “You _want_ to?”

“Of course I do.” Daphne drops her own sponge and strides over until they’re practically nose to nose, cocking her head. “You’re hot. I’m hot. We both want to fuck. So fuck me. Come on. The car can wait. My room.” 

Amita tosses her sponge. Daphne grins and takes her hand, leads them both back into the house. 

 

 

They’re making out with their hands under each other’s shirts by the time they make it into Daphne’s room, which is probably why Amita doesn’t notice Rose lounging on Daphne’s massage chair until she pushes Daphne onto the bed and straddles her and Rose chooses that moment to wisely speak up. “Enjoying yourselves?”

Shocked into momentary terror for the second time in five minutes, Daphne just manages to grab on to Amita’s arms and stop her falling off the bed. Rose laughs, but it’s not a mean sound, just amused. Amita manages to steady herself, looking from Daphne to Rose then back. “What’s she doing in - “

“I asked her,” Daphne says, smiling in pleasure as Amita falls silent and her jaw drops. “Come on, Amita. If I could notice you looking at me, I could notice you looking at her. Or more accurately, listening.” She slides her hand down Amita’s side, settling on her waist under her shirt. “She’s here to watch. Talk us through fucking each other, and then when she wants to… maybe fucking both of us. Would you like that?”

Amita’s eyes are wide, her mouth still open, but she nods fervently. Daphne grins and turns her head so she’s facing Rose. “We’re all yours.”

“Not yet, but you will be,” Rose answers back smoothly. “Clothes off. Let me see both of you.”

The speed at which they both scramble to undress is admirable, not that either of them think much about it at that moment - far more interesting things to consider. Rose hums in approval as Daphne falls back against the bed, Amita straddling her hips. “Good girls. Amita, I want you to put your palm on Daphne’s throat. Gently, first, then press harder, slowly. Put your other hand between her legs. Fuck her on your fingers.”

Amita makes a strangled whimper, thick with arousal, and obeys without question. Daphne keens softly as Amita slowly slides two fingers inside her, and pushes against her airway with her other hand, obstructing the flow of oxygen. It’s gradual and she doesn’t even move that fast or hard but it feels amazing as she struggles to pull air into her lungs, her vision narrowing just the slightest bit. 

“Stop there,” she hears Rose order again. “Don’t press any harder, Amita. Just keep up the pressure. Keep fingering her. Thumb on her clit. Just like that, until she comes.”

Which doesn’t take long, because every sensation seems to be amplified twofold with Amita’s hand on her throat, and before long Daphne feels the familiar ache pool in her abdomen, grinds down harder against Amita’s fingers, comes with them buried inside her. 

Rose coos appreciatively as Daphne orgasms, panting high and almost sweet. “Such an obedient girl,” she murmurs. “You’re going to repay the favour now, aren’t you? Amita, straddle her face. She can use her mouth on you.”

“Yeah, okay, yes,” Amita replies, sounding breathless, sounding needy. She positions herself just right, shudders a little when Daphne exhales right over her clit, then outright moans when Daphne licks up, in. She rides Daphne’s face enthusiastically, and Daphne responds with zeal, pulling all the stops. From where she sits, legs still folded up on the chair and just watching avidly, Rose speaks to both of them - praising them, encouraging them, her accent bleeding in thick, and it makes both their heads spin. 

“I’m going to fuck both of you once you come, Amita,” Rose says softly, over the sounds of Daphne working her tongue into Amita. “My fingers inside both of you so I can keep using my mouth, talk both of you through it until you’re coming to the sound of my voice.” 

Amita climaxes noisily, head bowed and hair fanning out against her shoulders, and just manages to move her legs shakily, collapsing on the bed beside Daphne. They both hear Rose get out of her chair, walking steadily over to them. “Very good. Spread your legs.”

They both do, and Rose seats herself comfortably between both of them, sliding her fingers between their come-slick folds, dipping the tips inside them, just the slightest, just a tease. “Now,” she says, voice rich and elegant and so ready to talk both girls into submission. “Let’s see if I can really make you two come just with my words, shall we?” 


	42. constance x nine ball - fun dumb stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **sarcandy** \- 'can we have constance  & nine ball where they had a drunken hookup & discovered they're both into bdsm' + **lachtara** \- 'some bondage + ice play with whatever pairing calls to you'. 
> 
> inb4 anyone comes @ me re: the asian tolerance quip - as a tiny asian girl who once went to school hungover after ONE glass of wine at a wedding dinner, trust me. that lightweight thing is no fucking joke. 
> 
> tags: resolved mutual interest, tipsy sex, bondage, ice play, rimming, fingering

It’s just another ordinary night, with Debbie and Lou out on a side job, Tammy with her kids, Daphne on location shoot, Amita and Rose preparing for a joint show - the kind of night where the house is quiet, where Constance and Nine Ball curl up on the couch to watch all the trashy TV they want without the background noise of the other girls making fun of them. They have two bags of chips between them, two untouched glasses of ice and - this is unique to tonight - a Macallan that they’ve been drinking straight from the bottle, because who needs mixers with scotch this good?

“Think Lou will be pissed when she finds out you stole it?” Nine Ball asks the words dragging a little - she’s had a _lot_ of the good stuff. Constance seems like she really thinks about it for a couple of seconds, although that might just be her boozed-up brain trying to process words and their meanings, then she shrugs. “Eh, I’ll just pay her back. What’s the point of having thirty million dollars if you can’t do fun dumb stuff now and then, right?”

Nine Ball nods resolutely in agreement. “Fun dumb stuff, yeah,” she crows, kicking her feet up and resting them on Constance’s lap. “Like cliff-diving and base-jumping and shit, or streaking, or - “

“Or sex,” Constance drawls out, never taking her eyes off Nine Ball. Her eyes are dark and her smile genuine, a little sly, a little playful. Nine Ball grins back, unabashed. “What, you want to have sex? With me?”

She doesn’t realise how tense she was, how much she expected Constance to laugh it off, how much she wanted her not to joke about it and to actually say yes, until Constance actually does say yes. Trails her fingers down the length of Nine Ball’s calf, staring her in the eye. “Yeah, I want.” 

Something shifts in the air, and Nine Ball feels some clarity returning to her, pushing past the alcohol-fuelled haze. With deliberate movement, she shifts the chips and remote onto the table, beside the ice and Macallan, then tilts her head and looks at Constance. Constance looks back for just a second, then pretty much launches herself to the other side of the sofa so they’re both tangled up in each other, making out heatedly. 

“You really want to fuck on the sofa?” Nine Ball asks, laughing a little breathlessly. “Seems so high school.”

And Constance looks up at her, this dangerous little smile on her face, and Nine Ball feels a sudden chill of both fear and arousal shoot up her spine. Constance leans in, her breath ghosting against Nine Ball’s cheek. “No,” she replies. “I want you handcuffed to my bed with my hands all over you making you scream.” 

“Yes,” Nine Ball says in response, because her brain is short-circuiting way too much to say anything more coherent than that. Constance grins and straightens up, getting off the sofa. “Come on,” she says, already walking towards her room. “And bring the ice.”

 

 

“I have to tell you, I’m usually not the one being handcuffed,” Nine Ball says, trying to keep her voice from shaking, because Constance’s kneeling over her, ice cube in one hand, dragging it slowly down from Nine Ball’s throat to her breasts, circling one nipple and then the other. She hisses through her teeth, arching up ineffectively, her range of movement limited by the metal cuffs around her wrists. “Jesus, Constance, fuck - “

Constance just laughs merrily, dropping the ice cube back in the glass. “You couldn’t put me in handcuffs if you tried, babe.” She drops a quick kiss to Nine Ball’s forehead, then goes to carefully scoop out a fresh cube. “You don’t like it?”

She does like it, actually. She likes the feeling of Constance’s lithe body on top of her, of letting somebody else take control for once. She especially likes the way Constance takes the new ice cube and trails it down between her breasts to her navel, then against the hot seam of her sex, and even lower, circling around the rim of her ass. A gasp slips past her lips, unbidden, at the sudden sting of cold. Her hips jerk, and Constance presses down against the curve of her waist. “No moving. Let me do this.”

 _This_ entails Constance holding the ice where it is, just long enough that she doesn’t go numb but it’s getting close to unbearable, and then replacing it swiftly with her tongue. The contrast - the freezing ice to Constance’s hot mouth - feels like a _burn,_ especially with the way Constance slides her tongue inside, licks her open. She flicks the ice cube away, cold fingers sliding between her folds and then dipping inside her, pushing in. It’s a strange feeling but _so_ good, and Nine Ball twists jerkily in her restraints, desperate for more. 

The temperature thing evens out by the time Nine Ball comes with Constance’s tongue in her ass and fingers in her cunt, but the sensations definitely remain, waves of pleasure cresting over her. Constance pulls out slowly, rocking back on her haunches and sighing. “Woah, not gonna lie, it’s kinda hard to do that tipsy.”

Nine Ball, who is already this close to complete sobriety, stares at her. “You’re tipsy?”

“How are you not still? I must have drank a good quarter of the bottle,” Constance groans. “Ugh, Asian tolerance, seriously. I used to be able to get drunk on three glasses of wine.”

“I’m sorry, but if that’s the kind of sex we’re having while you’re _tipsy,_ I need a repeat when you’re sober, because I haven’t come like that in at least a _year,”_ Nine Ball says. Constance narrows her eyes and smirks at her. “Is this a ploy to get me in bed again?”

Nine Ball grins at her, unflinching. “Not really, I’m just interested. Are you?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Constance replies, leaning forward to slide their mouths together. “You just have to say the word.” 


	43. daphne x debbie x lou - trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'deb x lou. lowkey humiliation? deb likes being called a slut/whore etc. top!lou' + **cam_94** \- 'lou x debbie  & perhaps daphne with some light or hard bondage. lou as dom! like debbie pulled a little heist without telling lou & the girls, she gets in trouble maybe & lou doesn't like it. so she punishes debbie in the best way'. 
> 
> tags: established relationship, punishment, bondage, edging, consensual degrader/degradee, fingering, oral sex, dom lou, dom daphne, sub debbie

It’s not very often that Debbie has her metaphorical tail between her legs. For one, she’s very, very good at planning jobs, so plan B never really even needs to be thought about. And she’s got a healthy ego - modesty really not being her strong suit - so even when shit sometimes goes wrong she keeps her head held high and never takes anyone’s crap.

If Lou wasn’t so furious, she would be a little smug about how quiet and abashed Debbie is as she limps into the car with Lou’s arm around her, supporting her with each step. She doesn’t say anything as she helps Debbie into the backseat, making sure she’s comfortable and strapped in safely before heading to the driver’s seat and pulling out of the alley back home.

It’s Debbie who finally breaks the silence. “Sorry.”

“You’re an idiot,” Lou replies flatly. “An idiot who got complacent in planning her jobs just because she robbed Cartier, went off to execute said job without telling a single person what you were doing, and then got double-crossed like a fucking soft-palmed rookie. Deborah Ocean, if we didn’t have Nine Ball tracking your phone, you could have _died.”_

Debbie winces at Lou’s use of her full name, which she only pulls out when she’s really incandescent with anger. “I know, I know. I was just - “

“You were bored, and you were reckless, and you were stupid. And thankfully, you were also lucky.” Lou cuts her off, making another turning down the quiet streets. “And to top it all off, you tried to charm your way out by flirting with that sweet young thing who had a fucking shank on her. You’re lucky I didn’t let Daphne come with me, because if those guys hadn’t killed you, she would’ve.” 

“Oh god,” Debbie says, the dread slipping into her voice. “Daphne. Oh no.” 

“Oh yes,” Lou answers grimly. “She’s going to read you the riot act when we get home, and I won’t even stop her.”

 

 

Daphne does, indeed, read her the riot act. Loudly, and violently, yelling at her about trusting her partners and teammates _,_ and thinking things through properly instead of being complacent, and maybe not running off like a complete moron for the thrill of the con, and oh, how about not flirting with other women and letting her _girlfriends_ find out about it? She goes on for a good ten minutes with Lou just standing beside her with her arms folded and Debbie lying on the bed with her leg bandaged up and looking ashamed of herself. Daphne finally stops only because, Debbie suspects, she’s starting to run out of breath. She glares hard at Debbie. “I swear we have to tie you to the bed if we don’t want you running off and doing anything fucking stupid.” 

There’s a silence, but for Daphne getting her breath back. Lou’s eyes narrow, and her gaze darkens. “You know what?” She takes a step closer to Daphne, sliding an arm around her waist. “Why don’t we do just that?”

Debbie’s breath hitches as Daphne turns to face Lou. “You want to tie her up?”

“And punish her. For being defiant, and arrogant, and flirting like a slut.” Lou practically spits the words, each one like a machine-gun shot. “Good idea?”

“Yes,” Daphne says, and frankly, Debbie also wants to say yes, because the thought of both of them punishing her, together, despite the context of the situation, is so fucking hot and gets her wet. Lou smiles, a sharp little thing, and goes for the silk.

 

 

She ends up naked on the bed, wrists and ankles securely tied to the bedposts. Lou makes sure her injured leg is in a stable position and circulation isn’t impeded, before getting off the bed and going back to Daphne’s side. “You don’t get to come tonight, Debbie,” she says, resolute. “You want to run off on your own and get yourself into scrapes, you suffer the consequences. Do you understand?” She cocks her head. “Usual safeword?”

“Yeah,” Debbie gasps. Lou nods once, firmly, then touches the small of Daphne’s back. “Go ahead, baby.” 

Daphne goes, with relish. Covers Debbie’s body with her own, slides two fingers inside her, moves agonisingly slowly and shallowly. “I’m not even that mad that you ran off alone,” she says silkily, like she isn’t pretty much torturing Debbie with how she’s refusing to give it to Debbie the way she likes, hard and fast and rough. “I get wanting to pull your jobs alone, or wanting time for yourself. But not telling anybody? Not telling _us?_ That sounds like a trust issue, and I don’t like it. Don’t you trust us, Debbie? To give you what you need, to support you in your ventures?”

Debbie squeezes her eyes shut, blinking away stray tears. “Yeah, yeah, I do, I promise, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“You should be,” Daphne replies, voice still soft and velvety. “Especially because you went and flirted with someone else. Why would you do that, Debbie? I thought we were done with this. But I guess you’re still ready to open your legs for anyone, right?” Debbie doesn’t say anything, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, and Daphne slaps her gently, just hard enough to sting. “What are you, Debbie? Tell us.”

“I’m - I’m a slut,” Debbie rasps, brokenly. Daphne smiles mirthlessly, still not picking up the pace. “That’s right, sweetheart. And you’re _ours._ Our pretty, darling slut, ready to get on your knees for us whenever we want. You remember that, don’t you?” This time she lets Debbie get away with just a nod, kissing away the tears on her face. “Good. Don’t forget next time.” 

She brings Debbie close, so close, and then removes her fingers, licking the taste of her off them, elegantly easing herself off the bed and back to Lou’s side. Lou kisses her, long and lingering, right in Debbie’s view. “You’re so good at this, darling.”

“Learned from the best,” she replies mischievously, letting her words peter off into a moan as Lou moves to her neck, sucking a bruise into her pale skin. Her hand slides under Daphne’s dress, pushing it up to reveal lace underwear, pushing it aside to gain access, her fingers working into Daphne’s wet heat. Daphne rocks into her touch, head dropping back. Lou fucks her a little longer, letting Debbie come down from the edge, until Lou’s ready to bring her close again. She gives Daphne another quick kiss and leaves her to get herself off, watching, while she gets on the bed between Debbie’s legs and presses her lips against Debbie’s clit. Her reaction is electric, jerking up and gasping and keening softly. “Lou, please, let me come, need it so bad, need you,  _please -_ “

“No,” Lou answers coldly. “You did something wrong, you bear the consequences. You _don’t_ get to come tonight, and if you do, you get another punishment. Something you’ll like even less.” 

Debbie makes a shuddery sound in her throat, but nods. Lou goes back to her ministrations, licking unhurriedly up her folds, slow lazy strokes, then pulling back again. “Look at you, Debbie,” she says softly. “Laid out on our bed, tied down so you can’t move, mindless little thing begging to come. I could get anyone in here right now and you would be begging for them to fuck you, like a fucking whore.” She traces her fingers down Debbie’s sides, her ass, her thighs. “You’re so in charge out there, so in control, and in our bedroom you mewl for it like a bitch in heat.” 

“Oh god,” Lou hears Daphne moan from behind them, and smiles. “Daph’s right, you know. You need to trust us. To always give you what you need, to always have your back. Haven’t we earned your trust, Debbie? Do you trust us?”

It’s a scene, it’s sex, it’s a punishment, but under it, there’s also a real hint of a question. Daphne falls silent too, her eyes wide with concern. Debbie looks at both of them, their earnest curiosity, a bit of hurt, and bites her lip. “Yes, and yes,” she replies, meaning it. “I’m sorry I didn’t - I trust you. I love you.” 

Daphne’s entire expression softens, and Lou leans her cheek against the inside of Debbie’s thigh, eyes closed, smile small and real. “We love you too, baby,” she says. “We just don’t want to see you running off and getting hurt again, okay?” She looks up at Debbie, sees her nod, presses a kiss to her hipbone and straightens up, getting back off the bed. “Daph, help me with her ankles?”

They get her loose from the restraints, lie next to her, careful not to agitate any of her wounds. Daphne presses her lips to the base of Debbie’s neck and reaches for Lou’s hand, her arm draped over Debbie’s stomach. “Love you, Debbie,” she murmurs. “Let us be here for you.” 

Debbie nods, curling closer into both of their embraces, and falls asleep feeling safe, feeling wanted, feeling like she won’t ever be alone again.


	44. constance x daphne x lou - good for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **cam_94** \- 'constance  & daphne start having a daddy kink for lou, so lou likes to spend time with her little girls'. thank u for sending this in. as someone with a WILD daddy kink i liked writing out my own fantasies SO MUCH. 
> 
> tags: established relationship, ddlg, dd!lou, lg!constance, lg!daphne, making out, fingering, oral sex, porn with feelings

Ten years ago, if you’d asked Lou where she thought she was going to be in a decade’s time, the _last_ thing she would have thought of would be ‘in a six-bedroom penthouse apartment with thirty-eight million dollars in an offshore account and a beautiful bike to call her own’, but well, it’s ten years later, and here the fuck she is. It’s pretty surreal, but she’s not bitching. It’s a good life.

She definitely didn’t think she would have two beautiful girls in her bed to come home to every night, either, and there are definitely no complaints there. 

 

 

Lou comes home after a long afternoon taking the Harley out for a spin, takes a quick shower to wash off the grime, and enters the bedroom to see Constance and Daphne curled up in each other’s arms, on top of the sheets, making out, lazy and luxurious. The fond smile finds its way to her lips without her even thinking about it - they look so beautiful, laid out there like that for her, mouths pressed to each other’s but their hands not roaming, just looped around each other’s waists, comforting and warm. Lou saunters over, careful not to startle either of them, gently pushing Daphne’s hair off her forehead, tucking Constance’s behind her ear. “I’m so pleased with both of you,” she says softly, smile widening when both of them make soft happy noises. “Taking such good care of each other. My good girls.” 

They’ll always be good for her, Lou thinks, and the surety of it, the assurance, honestly keeps her steady especially on bad days. She lets her fingertips linger on their cheeks, letting them arch into her touch. They’ve never done this before on their own accord, and it’s initiative on their part that Lou appreciates. “Whose idea was this?” 

“Constance’s,” Daphne answers promptly, and Constance ducks her head, smiling and flushing a little. Lou laughs, smoothing back her messy hair. “Very good. You deserve a reward. You _both_ deserve rewards,” she says, before Daphne can start pouting. “But tonight, Constance gets hers first. Do you think she deserves that, Daphne?”

Daphne nods without a hint of reluctance, and Lou feels a tinge of pride, how she’s beginning to become softer and kinder and far more generous. They’re a good influence on her. Smiling, Lou pats her thigh. “Lie back, baby girl. Constance, on top of her. Daphne, I want your arms around her. Just like a hug.”

They both scramble to obey, positioning themselves on the bed, pressed up against each other. Without even being directed they start making out again, tongues sliding against lips, against teeth. Lou doesn’t stop them, just kneels between their spread legs and guides her fingers into Constance’s velvet heat, making sure to bend her head so her breath ghosts across Daphne’s clit, making her shift and gasp. Lou knows it’s taking all of her willpower not to beg, to be good, but she clenches her teeth and keeps quiet, lets Constance have her reward without taking Lou’s attention from her. Such a good girl.

Constance herself arches back, grinds hard against Lou’s hand, her moans inaudible as Daphne swallows them down. Lou keeps up a steady, gentle rhythm, just the way she knows Constance likes it, licking against her clit every now and then to bring her closer and closer to climax. Her small frame shudders against Daphne’s when she comes, and Daphne keeps her arms tight around Constance’s waist, murmuring soft words to her that Lou can’t hear, but that evidently make Constance smile. “So good,” she mumbles through the daze. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” Lou replies affectionately, then turns her attention to Daphne. “You were very good, Daphne. Such a patient girl. You get your reward now. Constance, beside her, please.” Daphne likes it when they have their mouths on her - her lips, her tits, her ass, her cunt, wherever. Lou knows this, lets Constance start lapping at the hollow of Daphne’s throat while she opens her mouth against the hot seam of Daphne’s sex, practically drinking the sweet scent, _taste_ of her. Daphne likes it faster than Constance does, harder, and Lou pushes herself to the limit, eating Daphne out sloppy and rough so her chin and cheeks are pretty much drenched with Daphne’s wetness. Daphne whimpers, grasping blindly for Constance’s hair and tightening her grip, urging her on as Constance sucks a bruise just above her breasts, comes noisily and sounding content. 

Lou pulls back when she’s done, looking down at both of them, dazed and happy. Gorgeous. She strokes her hands against their thighs, tender and loving. “You okay?” They both nod, and Lou smiles. “Such good girls for your daddy. I’m very happy with both of you.” 

“Wanna be good for you,” Constance replies, words slurring and bleeding into each other, the post-orgasm haze mixing with the returning arousal. “Wanna make you happy.”

“You do,” Lou answers softly, gently easing her way between both of them to lie down beside them. They instantly respond, Constance sliding her fingers into her cunt and Daphne kissing her, taking the lead, both of them making her feel good just the way she likes them to. It makes her heart swell and ache, how good they are for her, how good they are for each other, how good they all are, together, the three of them. Not just in bed, but as a whole - as girlfriends, as lovers, as life partners. She loves them so much, and always will. 

 

 

Later, when they’ve finally fucked it all out of their systems and the sheets are beyond rescue and they’re all tangled up, long limbs and sweaty skin, Lou looks up at the ceiling and bites her lip. “I can’t believe I got so lucky,” she says, very quietly. “I can’t believe I get to love both of you and be loved back.”

Constance looks up at her, concern in her expression as she sees the hint of tears in Lou’s eyes. “Hey, we love you,” she replies, Daphne humming agreement beside her. “We’re the lucky ones.” 

Daphne nuzzles against her cheek, kissing her briefly on the line of her jaw. “Love you, Lou. So much. Go sleep,” she murmurs. “Long day tomorrow.” 

Lou closes her eyes, listening to her girls’ breathing even, their pulses slow and steady, tries not to think too hard about what she ever did to deserve them, tries to just focus on being in the here and now, because that’s all that really matters, for now, and for the rest of her life.


	45. daphne x debbie - anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **natashass** \- 'imma need some more debbie/daphne, if you're still taking prompts please do bratty!daphne being super difficult  & brat tamer!debbie having so much fun'. i had to google research to write this fic because i am the subbiest sub to ever sub. my search history is dubious rn.
> 
> tags: established relationship, dom debbie, sub daphne, brat!daphne, brat tamer!debbie, spanking, oral sex, fingering

The moment Daphne walks through the front door and slams it so hard behind her that it actually rattles on the hinges, Debbie knows it’s going to be a fun night. Without turning a hair, she keeps reading from her novel, not looking up to acknowledge Daphne. “You damage the door, you pay for it.” 

Daphne doesn’t respond, just storms to the kitchen, gets a drink, and proceeds to storm up to their bedroom. Debbie rolls her eyes, but fondly - they’ve dated long enough for her to know what this is leading to. Carefully, she lays her book down, smoothing out her clothes and meandering back to the bedroom in Daphne’s wake. 

“You took so fucking _long,”_ Daphne whines when she enters, childish and irritable. She’s sprawled out in Debbie’s good chair, the one she _knows_ she’s not allowed to be in. Debbie doesn’t give her the pleasure of a reaction, just folds her arms and leans against the now-locked door. “You’re being difficult again,” she says, letting just a little bit of displeasure enter her tone. “You _want_ me to punish you? Get off my chair.”

Daphne folds her arms and honest-to-god pouts, curling up even more obstinately on said chair. “Today’s shoot was awful,” she grouses. “They acted like I didn’t know what I was doing on a film set, even though this has been my career all my _life.”_

“That doesn’t give you a licence to take your anger out on me, or on any of us,” Debbie replies promptly. “It’s immature and you know that. And you know it’s not an excuse to disobey me either.” With a sudden movement she strides over and grabs Daphne’s arm, jerking her out of the seat and onto the bed. Daphne cries out, less from any pain and more from the shock. Debbie pins her to the bed, staring her in the eyes. “For being a brat and talking back to me and disobeying me, you get five strokes. Do you understand?” She cups Daphne’s cheek. “Green-yellow-red, the usual. Just say red if you want me to stop.” 

Daphne just breaks character for a second to give her a dazzling, genuine smile, and Debbie smiles back, unable to help herself, even as Daphne slips right back into being a brat, her dark eyes flashing with resentment that looks so _real,_ easy to fake after years of pristine acting. She doesn’t say anything as Debbie props her on her hands and knees with a sharp jab, and reaches for the crop. She pushes Daphne’s dress up to bunch around her waist, feasting on the sight of her gorgeous ass, bared for her eyes only. The crop in her hand presses against the bare flesh for a second, while Debbie instructs Daphne. “I want you to count. Every time you don’t, I add another stroke. I’ll make you bleed if I need to.” She pauses to give Daphne the chance to protest, and keeps going when she hears none, lifts her hand and brings the crop down hard against Daphne’s ass. Her breath hitches and her head jerks forward, but no sound comes from her lips. Debbie pauses, letting the crop linger on the line of red that starts to blossom. “Daphne, I said count.”

“No,” Daphne answers, voice like steel. She’s shaking a little now - not with fear or pain but with arousal, with desire. Debbie sighs. “Then I guess we’re going to keep going.” She swats the crop again, the cracking sound like a gunshot around the room as she brings it back down against the same place she first hit Daphne. This time Daphne does gasp, loudly, a soft keen of pain punching out from her throat. She clenches her fists into the sheets, beginning to pant, but still doesn’t say a word. 

So Debbie continues - again and again, strokes hard and firm, until the tears are streaming down Daphne’s face and her skin is fiery red, a stark contrast to her pale back and thighs. It’s fifteen strokes in before she gives into the pain, her head bowed. “One,” she breathes, barely audible, crying out when Debbie smacks the crop across her thighs. “I didn’t hear that. Louder.” 

 _“One,”_ Daphne repeats, entire body tense, relaxing only when Debbie leans down to press a kiss against the base of her spine. “Good. Just four more.” 

She takes those four more almost obediently, although her _five_ sounds a little more sullen than it should - for that, Debbie lands one more light swat on her inner thigh before putting the crop back down. “Good. Maybe that’ll do something about your attitude,” she says softly. 

Daphne mutters something under her breath, a vague profanity. Debbie grabs her chin from behind and turns her to face her. "What was that?"

"Nothing," she replies, surly. Debbie slaps her, just gentle enough not to bruise but hard enough to sting. Daphne squeaks, biting her lip, and Debbie holds her in place. "You said  _fuck you,_ didn't you?"

"No," Daphne answers, letting a bit of desperation creep into her tone. "I didn't - Debbie, please - "

She's not allowed to use Debbie's name when they're doing scenes like this and she knows it, little brat. Debbie's hand comes down on Daphne's cheek again, this time harder, hard enough to have her clutching her face. "I really can't whip the disrespect out of you, can I? Or the dishonesty." She sighs, getting her jeans undone. "I want you to eat me out until I come. No using your hands. If you're good, maybe I'll think about touching you." 

Daphne doesn't protest this time, just watches and waits as Debbie gets on the bed, spreads her legs. Dips her head and starts licking into her, keeping her hands behind her back. It's an uncomfortable position and hell on her neck but they both know that's the consequences she has to bear. Debbie lays back, lets her hands skim over the still-tender flesh of her ass, smacking her sharply right over the most bruised portions when she slows down. She grabs Daphne's head when she comes, both hands, grinding down against her mouth without concern for her comfort, gasping. Daphne just lets her do it, keeping her head down, finally looking appropriately chastised. Debbie sighs, tipping her chin up to face her. "Ready to apologise and go back to being my good girl?"

"I'm sorry," Daphne says, contrite. "Thank you for being good to me even when I'm unruly." 

"Always, baby girl." She switches back to her normal voice, carefully cupping Daphne's face. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“God, yes,” Daphne laughs breathlessly, very carefully easing her legs straight and propping herself up, lying on her side with her chin resting on one hand. “I think I won’t be able to sit down for three days.”

“Generally not a good thing,” Debbie teases, curling close, making sure not to touch the tender sections of skin as she rubs gentle circles around Daphne’s clit, fingertips just barely dipping inside her. “So now that you’ve gotten that out of your system, you want to tell me what happened at work?” 

“Ugh,” Daphne groans, arching slightly into Debbie’s touch and beginning her rant. Debbie smiles and keeps her fingers moving, keeps listening intently, lets herself fall into it - being with Daphne, making her feel good, taking care of her, her new normal with the love of her life.


	46. debbie x lou x tammy - birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **rai** \- 'could you do a domestic debbie/tammy/lou? i'll love you forever if you do'. this was... less domestic than expected but i couldn't end this series without some spitroasting, I MEAN. 
> 
> tags: established relationship, dirty talk, strap-ons, spitroasting, rimming, blood mention, anal sex mention

After years and years of friendship, forged through robbing trucks together and running cons together and running away from the feds together, Debbie’s pretty certain that Lou and Tammy know her better than she knows herself. Lou has their blood types down - Debbie woke up in a hospital once after a transfusion with Lou glaring down at her asking her why _she_ had to be the one to tell the authorities that Debbie was B-positive - and Tammy never lets them get away with anything health-related (Tammy remembers that Lou’s lactose intolerant more consistently than Lou does). They know everything about each other. Even - especially - things that aren’t so safe for work. 

They know Lou tops the shit out of every other girl she fucks but she’ll go to her knees for them without hesitation. They know Tammy likes it rough, from behind, on all fours. They know Debbie will take absolutely anything in her mouth and _love_ it. And in hindsight, it’s no surprise how they know the best way to make her birthday perfect.

 

 

The whole team celebrates together first, of course. They do a bunch of shots at Lou’s club and even have a cheesy cake with the requisite birthday candles in the kitchen and the other girls give her presents. Constance gives her a poorly-wrapped mug that says ‘WORLD’S #1 MOM’ in garish font and grins unapologetically at Debbie’s unimpressed face. It’s a really good day, and Debbie doesn’t really think it can get all that much better - and then they drag her back to their bedroom with that look in their eyes and oh, maybe it can.

Lou kisses her, first, presses up against her with zero breathing space between them and opens her mouth against Debbie’s, aggressive and eager. Tammy slides her arms around Debbie’s waist from behind and ducks her head against her shoulder, and Debbie can feel the slightest hint of teeth scraping at her skin as Tammy sucks, hard enough to bruise. She’s sandwiched between them and it’s _nice,_ and they’re so _close,_ and this moan just slips past her lips when she realises - 

“Jesus Christ, are _both_ of you packing?” Debbie manages to pant past her moans. The thought of both Lou and Tammy wearing their harnesses, their strap-ons, under their clothes, all through the evening - she’s already soaking, her head beginning to spin. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

Lou laughs, hands drifting down her back to cup her ass and tug her hips closer, rocking slightly so Debbie can _feel_ the curve of the strap-on press against her. “We thought you’d like it,” she purrs throatily into Debbie’s ear, making her shiver. “Both of us inside you, at the same time.” 

The shot of arousal that comes with Lou’s words hits Debbie like a fucking eighteen-wheeler, and she’s almost on the floor just like that. As it is, her knees go weak, and she melts a little into their arms, already past speech. It feels like everything in her chest, her lungs, her brain, gets pushed aside by the wave of need and desire rising through her. Tammy laughs softly. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you on the bed.” 

How they manage to get her clothes off Debbie isn’t exactly sure because she’s pretty certain all her higher brain functions are shutting down in favour of focusing on the throbbing heat between her legs. Tammy sits by her, tenderly carding her fingers through Debbie’s hair, her other hand stroking lazily over her strap-on, spreading the lube evenly. “You have a lot of options, honey, and I think you’ll like every one,” she murmurs. “I could fuck your ass and let Lou take your cunt. Or we could see if you could actually take both of us together, two cocks in one hole,” and Debbie’s one hundred percent certain that she’s going to come untouched if Tammy keeps talking. “Or we could put you on your hands and knees and let you suck Lou’s dick while I fuck you from behind.” 

“Yes, oh god, please, fuck,” she gasps, practically babbling, not completely sure what she’s agreeing to exactly but not caring because they could literally _touch_ her right now and she would probably go off like a firecracker. She hears Lou’s low chuckle and then feels her hand on her cheek. “Yeah, baby girl. You want me to fuck your face, don’t you.” 

Debbie makes a high-pitched whining sort of noise, letting both of them manhandle her onto all fours so she’s facing the headboard - not for long, because Lou gets in between to block her view and suddenly all she can see is Lou. Lou kneeling before her, one hand firmly on the back of Debbie’s neck, pulling her in. Her other hand’s wrapped around the strap-on, the thick length of it, ghosting the tip against Debbie’s lips. She pushes in slow, so slow, lets Debbie take the lead. Lets her hands linger on Debbie’s face while she swirls her tongue around the head, sucks noisily, taking it deeper down her throat. She’s all the way to the hilt when she finally feels Tammy’s grip on her ass, one hand spreading her folds. 

“She’s so wet,” Tammy says reverently, evidently speaking over Debbie to Lou. “I could just sink into her, all the way in.” 

An approximation of a needy gurgle kind of rumbles past Debbie’s full mouth, but Tammy glides her thumb over her clit to show she’s understood. Without pause she drives the entirety of the toy right into her velvet heat. Debbie nearly chokes on the strap-on in her mouth, and Lou pulls out just a little, lets her breathe and recover as Tammy starts fucking her in earnest, the smack of flesh against flesh echoing around the room. Lou follows suit, easing into the rhythm, thrusting her hips forward, the strap-on sliding dripping wet in and out of Debbie’s mouth.

Debbie falls into the pulse of it, takes it both ways, doesn’t think she’s ever felt so full in her life, so debauched, so needy. She can vaguely hear Tammy moaning, gasping about how good Debbie’s taking it for her, for them. Can see Lou’s gaze fixed on where Debbie’s lips are wrapped around her cock, a little swollen, wrecked. “Gorgeous,” she rasps, pupils blown wide. “That’s it, baby. Suck me, just like that, fuck. Get me wet.” Lou grabs her hair, pulls, just hard enough to hurt. "I could fuck you up the ass like this, split you open with nothing but your saliva on my dick. You would cry and bleed and love every single second of it, wouldn't you?" 

Debbie's response is to push further, push harder, pretty much choking on the toy, gagging herself on it, because they get her like this - get her so wound up, so needy, so desperate. When it's just the three of them, when they get like this, Debbie just wants to lay spread-eagled on the bed and let them do whatever they want with her, to her. She thinks her legs are going numb, Tammy slamming into her without respite. "You wish it was real," she states - doesn't ask, already  _knows._ "You wish our cocks were real and you wish we could fill you with our come. Swallowing it down, having it drip out of your cunt." Debbie moans around the Lou's strap-on and Tammy grazes her hip with one hand. "So needy. Our girl." 

They draw it out, like that, for ages, knowing - _knowing_ better than anybody - that she can’t come just like this, needs their fingers or their mouths on her clit. Just build her up, closer and closer but never close enough. At some point Lou pulls out of her mouth so she can go and join Tammy, stand by her side, her mouth so tantalisingly close to where Debbie needs it most but just far away enough, circling around her rim and in, all while Tammy keeps pounding into her. It leaves her free to scream, to cry, her voice rough and hoarse. The begs and pleas flow easily from her lips. “Fuck, please, Lou, Tammy, need to come, fuck, I fucking need it, please, make me come, I need, please.” 

“Yeah, Deb,” Tammy whispers, and slows her movements so she can slide one hand between Debbie’s thighs, rubbing Debbie’s clit. “Come for us.” 

Debbie does - hard and earthshaking and her entire field of vision whiting out as she clenches around Lou’s tongue, Tammy’s cock, nigh-unbearable waves of pleasure flooding her every nerve ending. She’s sobbing, her moans sounding this close to howls, to screams. Her legs do give out this time, and she collapses onto the bed, gulping desperate breaths into her lungs as Lou and Tammy pull out, step back. There’s familiar rustling while they remove their harnesses before they both get into bed on either side of her, arms around her, Tammy kissing her temple. “Happy birthday, darling.” 

“Best fucking gift ever,” Debbie declares, snuggling close into both of their embraces. “Fuck, I’m so glad I’ve got you two.” 

“Love you, Deb,” Lou says softly. “Happy birthday. And to many more.” 

“With both of us,” Tammy adds. “Love you so much.” 

 _Love you too,_ Debbie thinks she manages to say, before she slips into the most comfortable, satisfied sleep she’s ever had in her life.


	47. daphne x rose - mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'while i'm here praising daphne/rose, i do have a bit of a low key request about them, maybe them being really focused on marking each other like everywhere'. 
> 
> tags: biting, marking, scratching, fingering, oral sex, watersports fantasy mention (i mean like MARKING EACH OTHER where else could i have taken that t b h)

The first time they have sex, Daphne hasn’t even seen the Toussaint yet. Rose has been running designs for her Met Gala outfit by her and Daphne’s finally settled on her favourite after a solid few days. There’s been electric tension between them since the first time they sat down to actually discuss their visions, so she’s not really surprised the afternoon they’re in her suite and Rose is taking her measurements and when Daphne pulls her in and kisses her, Rose kisses back. 

They don’t get much done the rest of that day. Or the one after that.

 

 

She smells a rat - a few rats, for lack of a better way to phrase it - by the time she walks the red carpet, she’s already suspicious. And then the Toussaint is taken from her neck, and ‘found’ in the moat, and John Frazier shows her a photo of a beautiful woman in a stunning dress that she remembers crystal-clear, and Daphne puts all the pieces together. 

She’s not surprised to see Rose when she walks into the team’s headquarters. She is surprised by the ache in her chest when she does, just manages to tamp it sternly down while she makes herself comfortable on the sofa and drags them all to filth. She joins the team - duh, there really wasn’t much else they could do except literally murder her to keep her quiet, and the seven of them are criminals but they aren’t _killers,_ god forbid. She doesn’t move in like most of them do because she has a really nice apartment to herself, thanks very much, but she does start spending a lot of time around, staying the night on occasion.

It takes her two weeks to confront Rose, who skitters out of sight every time Daphne comes over. She corners her in the game room and tries to keep her voice steady, mostly succeeds. “We need to talk.”

Rose looks at her with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights - frightened, surprised, but also like she’s bracing for something to hit her, to hurt. “Daphne, listen - “ 

“No, you listen,” Daphne answers, letting some of her hurt and betrayal and _pain_ seep in. “I kissed you, back then, and I know that. You kissed me back. I know that too. And I want to know exactly how much of that was real, and how much of it was so you guys could steal the Toussaint without a hitch.” 

And the next minute feels like the longest minute of her life, holding her breath, looking at Rose, her expression giving nothing away, until, _until,_ she steps forward and touches Daphne’s face. “All of it,” she says. “All of it was real.” 

The tears spring unbidden to Daphne’s eyes, even though she desperately tries to keep them at bay. “Prove it,” she demands, aware that she sounds bratty and whiny and _awful_ but she can’t handle the thought of having this slip away from her. “Show me that you actually want me.”

Rose doesn’t even move closer, or lean in. Just grabs her chin and pulls her close and kisses her, just on this side of frantic. Daphne responds immediately, licking into her mouth with this ferocity she didn’t know she had, already clawing ineffectively at Rose’s dress in her efforts to tear it off. 

“Daphne, Daphne, wait,” Rose gasps, mostly ignored by Daphne, who wants, _wants,_ needs, until Rose practically jabs her in the side with one long finger. Daphne yelps and Rose takes advantage to push her away just the slightest, although she doesn’t remove her arm from Daphne’s waist. “Don’t ruin the dress, oh god. My room.” 

“Right, the dress,” Daphne replies, laughing a little helplessly, because she’s so gone on this woman, falling deeper and deeper, and she’s not sure she could ever get out.

 

 

Rose is a biter, she learns, when they lock her door behind them and take off their clothes and topple onto the bed, grabbing at each other, pulling each other closer, not that Daphne thinks she can ever get close enough. She nips lightly at Daphne’s bottom lip before tipping her chin up so she can get to the expanse of her throat, sucking so hard with that hint of teeth Daphne thinks she might actually break the skin. Her nails dig into Daphne’s back, her ass, and the sweet burn of pain mingling with pleasure makes her arch up, grinding the seam of her cunt against Rose’s. 

“Mine,” Rose whispers, low and heady, between bites on Daphne’s shoulder and neck and what feels like literally everywhere else. “My beautiful girl, my muse, my model. When you walk out of this room, everyone will know at a glance that you belong to me.”

“Yes,” Daphne gasps, reveling in it, the possessiveness in Rose’s tone, the adoration, the need. “Yours. All yours. Only want you.” She wants to stride out in front of the other girls, head high and unashamed, hickeys all over her, marking her as Rose’s - the idea thrills her to no end, makes her so wet. “Fuck, Rose, need you, please, fuck me.” 

Rose doesn’t let up with marking her up, blossoming bruises all over her, but obligingly works her fingers inside Daphne, curling and thrusting. Daphne moans, a shivery little sound, dragging her hands up Rose’s back, nails scraping over skin, again and again. Rose moves lower, and lower, her mouth coming to rest on the inside of Daphne’s thigh while her fingers continue to scissor inside her, thumb against her clit. Her other hand grips Daphne’s knee, so hard she thinks it might be leaving an imprint. 

When she finally, _finally_ buries her face between Daphne’s legs, eats her out like there won’t be a tomorrow, Daphne’s pretty sure she lets out an embarrassingly loud, shaky sob. She can practically _feel_ Rose smile and she glides her hands over Daphne’s thighs, the bruises already beginning to bloom, digs her nails in and it _hurts,_ but it hurts so good. 

“You like it,” Rose says, sounding pleased, and Daphne nearly screams - _like it?_ She’s fucking _drunk_ on it, ready to turn traitor to king and country just to have more, more, _more._ “You like being all marked up, being able to look in the mirror and see me all over your body.” 

Daphne nods fervently, to Rose’s smile. “You know, a lot of animals scentmark their territory,” she says, conversationally, like she’s talking about the fucking weather. “Dogs, cats, wolves… make sure other animals know it's theirs. Make sure they keep away. Maybe I should do that with you, pretty girl.” 

Which is close to the hottest, kinkiest thing Daphne’s ever heard, and just the thought of it, combined with the feeling of Rose’s fingers inside her and nails pressed into her flesh just makes her come with a cry in her throat and stars behind her eyelids. Rose works her through it, smiling all the while. “I didn’t expect you to be so into that.”

“I didn’t expect you to mention it at all, but Jesus,” Daphne replies, putting an arm over her eyes and gasping a little. “Have you - done that before? With anyone else?”

“No,” Rose answers quietly, moving up the bed so she can lie beside Daphne, kissing her once, gentle, brief, but so genuine. “I never wanted anyone so badly before you.” 

Daphne just - melts into that, really. She’s sore all over and she’s pretty sure she’s going to look a fucking mess tomorrow but she honestly can’t find it in her to give a shit. “I love you,” she confesses, which is not something she says a lot, something she _means_ even less, but she means it now, every word, every syllable, every inflection. “Since - the safety pin necklace. Even when I started picking up on things being off.” 

Rose’s expression softens, the guilt evident in her eyes. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” she replies. “I’m so glad you figured it out. That you found me again.” 

“I would always have found my way back,” Daphne says, and it sounds like a promise, not just for now, but for the future, for always.


	48. amita x debbie - insecurity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from **catebelivet** \- 'maybe debbie  & amita, something sweet & sexy where amita is having insecurities brought on from years of family-related stress, feeling inadequate & debbie is there to reassure her (because she can relate) that amita is fantastic the way she is.
> 
> tags: gentle sex, oral sex, fingering, porn with feelings

It’s pretty easy to tell something’s wrong when Amita comes home a day early. She lets herself in quietly and doesn’t slam the door or anything violent, but her expression is frozen and tight and her jaw is clenched, and Debbie has known her way too long not to figure out that she’s not in a good place. She’s pretty sure she can guess why.

“Hey,” she says, when Amita just walks into her bedroom with a tub of ice cream and just sits herself down on her bed and eats while staring at the wall. “You want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t push. She just sits in the silence, patient, while Amita’s movements gradually slow. “I miss my dad,” she begins, sounding like she’s weighing every word before she says it, rolling it out. “My mom doesn’t realise it, but - he got me. He really understood me. My sister was the so-called perfect daughter but he was proud of me and who I wanted to become. I love my mom, and I get that she sacrificed so much to give me and my sister the best lives possible. But she’s always been so interested in her idea of me, and what she thinks I could be, instead of who I actually am.” She sets the ice cream down and lets Debbie reach for it, putting it safely on the table. “Some days I just wonder. Is she right? Am I just being a bad daughter? Is it wrong to be this insistent on who I think I am and what I think I want my life to be like? You know what I mean?”

Debbie does know, actually. She spent half her life just desperately trying to prove herself, as the youngest Ocean. Always trying to gain her parents’ approval, always trying to live up to her brother’s legacy, both on the legal and criminal sides of things, but always falling short. It’s why she ran off with Lou to run cons together - why she stood in front of her brother five years into that life, when he came to find her, when she was still young, still raw, still chafing, down to their last thirty dollars between the two of them, living out of a rattletrap of a car, her jeans fraying, and told him to fuck off. And it took so much for her to finally grow out of that - her parents both dying, finally figuring out who she was and what she wanted, finding real friends. It was fucking hard and she gets it and she never wants anyone to feel the same.

It’s why she moves to the bed, beside Amita, putting an arm around her shoulders. “You’re not a bad daughter, okay?” She says it kindly but firmly, putting all the sincerity she can into it. “You’re not a bad person. And no offence, but your mom can be a dick at times.” Amita laughs at that, a wan little chuckle. “She loves you and she wants the best for you and your sister, and that’s okay, but it doesn’t mean she’s right. It doesn’t mean she gets to tear you down for wanting a different life and insinuate you’re never going to be happy with your choices.” 

There is a long silence as Amita leans her head on Debbie’s shoulder, then sighs shakily. “You know, before you came to see me about the Toussaint con? It’d been seven years since I last saw you,” she says. “Seven years, Deb. I didn’t even know you were in prison until Lou came to see me six months into your sentence. Seven years. I missed you. Every day.”

Debbie doesn’t - _can’t_ \- reply, because what can she say to that? She wasn’t missing anyone, or anything, on the inside. For the first two weeks she was figuring out how to stay alive, figuring out the politics and intricacies of prison life, and for a good month she was just seething with incandescent rage, consumed with thoughts of revenge. And then when she finally, finally managed to drag herself back into some semblance of light, she was conceptualising the heist, and desperately trying to keep up with the rapidly changing world outside, and trying to figure out ways and means to get paroled. She came out expecting everything to have changed. For everyone she knew and ever loved to have moved on, left. Claude opened another gallery, Lou fell in love, Danny _died,_ and Amita’s sitting here five years eight months twelve days later telling her things she can read between the lines for. 

“Debbie?” She asks, tentative, and Debbie takes her chin, turns her closer, kisses her. She tastes a bit like melted ice cream, sweet and warm and familiar, and she sighs and kisses back like somebody who’s been waiting seven years to do it, which might just be true. It’s a good kiss, makes her head spin with how much she never realised she wanted it. It distracts her momentarily from the fact that Amita’s reaching for her collar, undoing her shirt, moving to her bra, her jeans. 

“Tell me you want this,” Amita’s saying, against her lips, hands trembling, and Debbie pushes her back, gently, against the bed, kicking her jeans off to pool on the floor with the rest of her clothes. “I want you.” 

She strips her with reverence, slowly, kissing every inch of skin she exposes. It’s part apology, part comfort, part worship, part assurance - a real thing, a true thing. Debbie spreads Amita’s legs carefully, licks up against the hot seam of her, once, easy, unhurried, and listens for the hitch in her breathing, the slight tremble of her body. Delves in, gentle but fervent, lingering on the taste of her. Her hands rest on Amita’s inner thighs, drawing patterns against the skin, teasing, matching the rhythm of her tongue. It's slow, careful, but they've both been waiting so long, it doesn't seem like a trial to draw it out even longer. What's five minutes in light of five years? 

“Shit, Debbie, I’m gonna - I want to see you,” Amita begs, breathlessly. “Want to see you. When I come. Please.”

Slowly, Debbie withdraws. Replaces her tongue with one finger, then two, brushing against that sweet spot. Locks eyes with Amita as she draws the orgasm out of her, whispering soothingly as Amita shakes and shudders through her climax, clenches around Debbie’s fingers. 

“Beautiful,” Debbie murmurs, and Amita blushes faintly. “Stop,” she scolds halfheartedly. “Come up here and kiss me.” 

Debbie obeys, and when Amita haltingly seeks out her sex, Debbie takes her hand, guides her where she needs to be touched. “You can go as fast or slow as you want.”

“I haven’t been with a girl in so long,” Amita answers, biting her lip. “And never one I actually cared about. I’m not like you, Debbie, I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Debbie says, because it is, because all she wants is Amita, all she wants is them, here, together, and nothing else matters. “Just do what feels good for you too.” 

And Amita does, opening her up, slow and careful, filling her, stroking, curling, twisting. Easing her closer and closer to climax, thumb gliding against her clit. Her tongue tracing the line of her collarbones, down her sternum to her breasts, circling taut nipples. Debbie comes with her back arched, a soft gasp, Amita’s mouth on her tits, and it feels so good, it feels so right. 

The very day she got out she contemplated just going to a club, finding a pretty girl, taking back to her ill-gotten room and just fucking her for the sake of it, recalling the feeling of a lithe, willing body against hers. She remembers being this close to actually doing it, and then stopping, wondering why it felt wrong. Now, lying wrapped up in Amita’s arms as she comes down from the high, she thinks she understands. She thinks it was worth it, to wait.

To wait for this. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Amita says drowsily, flicking her shoulder as she settles down on the bed, stealing another of Debbie’s pillows. “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” Debbie snips back, tugging at her pillow and trying (failing) to get it back. Her heart is warm, growing three sizes, watching Amita smile with her eyes closed and keeping a firm grip on said pillow. Five years, eight months, twelve days - _more than_ \- but she’s home. 

“Love you, Deb,” Amita murmurs, and Debbie sighs at the truth of it, kisses her on the forehead. “Love you too.”


	49. constance x lou - brilliant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from a tumblr anon - 'any expansion on the "lou lives to be on her knees & debbie lives for getting her on them" line would be v nice! i know you've written a lot of debbie x lou already, but even just desperate sub lou x anyone would be good'. i went with constance bc i love the idea of tiny firecracker constance getting lou on her knees. 
> 
> partially inspired by tumblr user vvhitelace's post - 'ok watching a girl undress for you is the hottest shit alive you can’t tell me otherwise'. so true!
> 
> tags: humour, dom constance, sub lou, lap dance, stripping, masturbation, oral sex

“You know what I’m grateful for?” Amita asks Constance one afternoon, three months after the heist, lounging on hammocks in a private resort with mai tais in their hands. “That we’re such a diverse, balanced team.” 

“Racially?” Constance asks, raising an eyebrow, because, um, they do have five white girls back in the house waiting for them. Amita shrugs. “At least we’re all gay as hell.” Constance concedes the point. “And I meant, we have an equal ratio of tops and bottoms.”

“Oh my god, Amita,” Constance begins, with Amita waving her protest away. “No, no, really! See, we have Nine Ball, Tammy, Rose and Lou. And then we have Daphne, Debbie, you, and me. It’s perfect.” 

Constance takes a moment to process this, not sure why she’s being lumped in with Daphne and Debbie. “As in… Nine Ball, Tammy, Rose, and Lou… the tops.”

“Yes,” Amita replies chirpily, sipping on her mai tai. “I didn’t see Rose as a top coming, though.”

“Mm,” Constance answers thoughtfully. “Out of curiosity, is this classification agreed on by everyone else?”

 

 

When Constance tells Lou, she laughs so hard she nearly chokes on her Screwdriver. 

“You,” she snorts, pointing at Constance. “They all think _you_ are a bottom? How can six criminals be that unobservant? Tell me.” 

“You tell me. You know half of them better than I do,” Constance retorts. “Oh, this martini is good. How are all your drinks so brilliant?”

Lou smirks, going for coy and reaching it easily. “I’m brilliant at a lot of other things,” she replies, eyes flashing dark and licking her lips. Constance grins, leaning back against her chair and tilting her head invitingly. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Well, you pick up a lot of things in a club,” Lou teases, voice dropping lower. She puts her drink down and steps closer, quick but steady, measured, until she’s in front of Constance. She doesn’t stop, just circles her chair, hand drifting to Constance’s shoulders, her back. Goes a round or two before coming back in front of her, resting her hands on Constance’s knees and staring her in the eye. Slowly, slowly, Lou guides herself onto her lap, arms wrapped around her neck, straddling her.

“Yeah, babe,” Constance breathes, tipping her head back and sighing, letting herself just revel in the way Lou rocks against her, small movements, teasing her. “So fucking sexy.”

Lou hums, grinds down on her one more time, then unhooks her legs, standing back up, taking a few steps back. Tugs her shirt off, leisurely, like she’s got all the time in the world, revealing her toned stomach, the cups of her bra, vibrant red, lace - Constance swallows hard, trying to focus. Focus on the way Lou maintains eye contact as she unzips her jeans, pushing them down to her ankles - how the fuck does she make that look hot? She’ll never know. Her underwear follows, all of it, and then she’s gloriously, beautifully naked, coming forward again, dropping to her knees between Constance’s legs. Stays there, quiet and pliant, as Constance slides her hand through Lou’s blonde hair, sighing. “God, baby, you look so good like that.” 

Lou’s lips are plush, slightly parted, looking needy. “Please,” she whispers - _begs,_ and it never stops giving her a thrill, not really. “Let me touch you, please, I want - I want to make you feel good, I want to be good for you.”

“You will,” Constance promises, not letting her grip loosen. “I want to see you. Play with your tits, fuck yourself on your fingers. Come on, Lou.” 

Which is practically punishment, because she knows how much Lou wants, so desperately, how much it hurts when Constance makes her just watch while she gets herself off, but she’s such a good girl, so obedient. One hand drops to caress her own breasts, the other slipping between her legs, working a steady rhythm inside her. Constance sighs happily, lazily opening her own pants and stroking her clit. She doesn’t want to come, not like this - she’s not going to do that to Lou tonight - but god, it’s such a sight.

She takes pity on Lou after a bit, sees the sheer greedy desire in her eyes. Holds up a hand for her to stop. Lou does, immediately, takes the hint, fingers tucking into Constance’s waistband and pulling her pants off, her underwear. The shirt stays on - it generally does - and Lou leans back, waiting. Knows she can’t start until she gets permission. Constance wraps her hand around the back of her head and pulls her in, pushes her face right against her cunt, and she goes to work like a fucking champ. Lou’s so good, clever fucking tongue, so damn enthusiastic. Constance tangles the fingers of her other hand in Lou’s hair and grinds her hips against Lou’s mouth, needing more, needing it faster. God, Lou’s so _good,_ so good for her. Eats her out like her life depends on it. Makes her feel like a fucking queen. 

Lou makes her come twice in succession before Constance tugs her gently away so she can look at her, pats her thigh in a gesture of welcome. Lou scrambles up onto her feet and straddles her lap, slick between her legs. Constance smiles and kisses her tenderly, pressing her fingers back inside Lou. “Thank you, babe. That was so fucking good.” 

Lou nuzzles against her neck, soft and open and purely happy. “Love being on my knees for you.” 

“I know,” Constance replies, tucking her hair behind her ear, and smiling silently to herself, because _honestly._ Lou, a top? In the girls’ _dreams._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter (yay, orgy!) will be posted around midnight sgt!


	50. daphne x ocean's seven - team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here it is! last chapter. thanks for sticking with me through this series. look out for more gen one-shots to come! 
> 
> tags: future fic, orgy, making out, masturbation, fingering, rimming, strap-ons, penetrative sex, mild edging, oral sex, voyeurism, they just all bang idk what else to say, just imagine any combination of them doing anything you can think of

In hindsight, Daphne supposes it was her own fault for joining a team of criminals expecting action and adventure and an endless parade of James Bond-esque excitements, because of the very simple fact that she joined them more than a week _after_ they successfully pulled off a hundred-million-dollar robbery and got away completely scot-free. Everyone is far more concerned with laying low and not getting dragged into the shit than going on wild adventures. Everyone has over thirty million dollars to their name but they barely _leave the house._ It’s driving her insane. 

The worst part is that they all seem so content to be domestic and peaceful. Debbie fills the house with the scent of dough and yeast as she seems to go through pastry cookbooks by the pile, with Tammy helping her out. Nine Ball seems perfectly happy to sit on the porch swing all day tapping away at her laptop. Rose thinks up new designs and Amita sits with her as her sounding board. Constance and Lou actually go out, but only to the nearest skate park so Constance can film some stunt videos on her new pennyboard and Lou can get some miles on her bike. It’s absurd. Is it that ridiculous that she expected more out of seven people who successfully robbed the Met Gala?

It takes her just a week or so to crack, to glare around at all of them during Disney marathon night. “Are none of you _bored out of your minds?”_

Constance stops in the midst of digging through a bag of chips. “Why would we be bored?” She asks, the picture of innocence. Daphne has to resist throwing something at her. “Because none of you ever do anything! Or go anywhere! The skate park doesn’t count,” she glowers. “I don’t get it! You guys are master criminals, you pulled off what most people would consider an _impossible_ heist, you all have millions of dollars, and half of you go to bed at _nine!_ I just don’t get it!” 

Lou shoots her an amused glance, then looks around the room. “Who wants to tell her?” No one responds, so she just shrugs. “You really think we _go to bed_ at nine? We fuck, Daphne,” she rolls it off her tongue slowly. “A _lot._ It occupies more time and brainpower than you’d think, and keeps us well-entertained while we lay low and let the heist blow over completely.” 

“What, _all_ of you?” Daphne snorts, feeling disbelieving and also more than a little put out. “You all seriously bring someone home every night? How did I not notice that?”

A kind of silence reigns across the room, and the girls all exchange glances, before Amita finally seems to take pity on her. “We don’t bring someone home every night, Daphne.”

“Then what - “ And then she sees their faces, _really_ sees their faces, and grows a brain, because _oh._ “Wait,” she says, slower this time, a hint of outrage beginning to seep into her tone. “All of you? _Together?”_

“Daphne,” Debbie begins, but Daphne doesn’t let her continue, feeling the indignation really begin to rise. “All of you? Really? All seven? Every night? And _nobody_ thought that oh, maybe Daphne might be feeling a little left out? _None_ of you?”

The awkward tension is suddenly replaced by shock. Tammy’s jaw drops. “Wait, you’re upset because we didn’t _invite_ you?”

“No, I’m just totally fine with the fact that my seven smoking hot housemates are screwing each other’s brains out while I’m lying in bed every night bored and horny and lonely! Of course I’m fucking - am I not hot enough for you guys or something? Am I not - I get that I barged my way in and everything and I didn’t exactly plan or execute the heist with you all but I thought I was part of the _team_ now, and I - “

 _“Daphne,”_ Debbie repeats, louder this time and more authoritative, and Daphne falls quiet. Her eyes look soft, a little guilty. “Do you _want_ to join us?”

The silence is beginning to creep back in. Daphne looks around and abruptly realises the shock on everyone’s faces is turning to interest, and desire, and curiosity. The atmosphere grows heavier and heavier, and her throat goes dry. 

But she already had her answer weeks ago.

“Yeah,” she replies, a bit softer and shakier than she intended but sincere. “I want.” 

Everyone seems to exhale in relief. Nine Ball chuckles softly, getting up and coming over to take her hand, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Well, that’s good,” she says, wicked grin on her face. “We’ve been really wanting you too.” 

 

 

She gets _carried_ into Debbie’s bedroom, like a goddamn princess or something, because they seem to want to make up for leaving her out of the house shagathon, so she’s not exactly complaining. As long as they don’t treat her like a delicate little flower, she has no problem with Lou scooping her up with a roguish wink and carrying her over the threshold. Especially when she sits down in a really comfortable chair and helps Daphne straddle her, then loops her arms around Daphne’s waist and kisses her, slow and dizzying. It’s a very good distraction and she’s left completely unaware as the others file in, getting their clothes off, figuring out their places and positions for the night. 

The next time she looks up to breathe and take in the scene, it steals all the air from her lungs - seeing Debbie and Nine Ball on the bed, writhing against each other; Rose leaning against the desk and working her fingers between her legs; Amita pressed up against the wall with Tammy sucking on her throat, one hand under her shirt. There’s movement from their side and Daphne looks over to see Constance, smiling tenderly at Lou, bending down to put her lips where Daphne’s were a moment ago. Daphne watches, rapt, jaw slack, as she kisses Lou - it’s an indescribable kiss, almost hauntingly beautiful, and Lou brings her hands up to cup Constance’s face, gentle and sweet. 

She could watch all day, absolutely understands Rose’s position at the moment, but seconds later they’re pulling apart and Constance turns her gaze to Daphne. “For the record, I said from the start we should invite you. _Somebody_ thought it would be overstepping boundaries.”

Lou grins, slightly rueful. “Good intentions only. I apologise.”

“Apology accepted,” Daphne says, reaching for her hand, clamping her fingers around Lou’s wrist. “On the condition of you getting me off.” 

Lou accedes with an amused smile, and Constance laughs out loud before rounding in front, dropping to her knees between Lou’s legs, licks a long shivery trail from the base of Daphne’s cunt up to the middle of her spine, ghosting past her rim. Lou gets the hint, gently manhandles Daphne’s knees, putting her in a position that gives Constance better access. She’s got Lou’s fingers still pumping steadily inside her and the touch of Constance’s tongue and then she’s pushing inside, licking her out. Daphne can’t help trembling, grabbing for the arms of the chair and clenching tight, the sensation so foreign but so intense. 

“How many times can you come in one night?” Lou asks in the same tone she uses to ask about dinner. Daphne wants to glare at her but can’t really muster up the brainpower. “How many times has someone ever made you come?”

“Um,” Daphne replies intelligently, trying to process what Lou’s saying - it’s a bit hard to concentrate. “T-three.” 

Lou hums thoughtfully and twists her fingers just right so Daphne fucking sees stars. “Well, that’s a solid goal to work towards.” 

She’s already so fucking overstimulated on every end - her whole field of vision taken up by Lou’s smiling face, the sound of sex a symphony around the room, Lou’s fingers in her cunt, Constance’s tongue in her ass - Daphne has doubts about even being able to _talk_ once she climaxes. As it is, she can barely cry out when she comes, making these pathetic panting noises and moaning, shaking in Lou’s arms, to the sound of Lou murmuring in her ear.

She thinks she might have blacked out for a second, or maybe she’s just so drunk on her orgasm she doesn’t notice. She comes like a freight train and the next thing she knows, she’s no longer perched on the chair. Instead, she’s backfirst against the bed beside Debbie and Nine Ball, who have moved on to scissoring the shit out of each other in the time she wasn’t paying attention. Daphne has just a few seconds to admire the agility, core strength and patience this takes, before she’s once again summarily distracted by Rose clambering over her. The strap-on attached to her harness rests against Daphne’s stomach - where did she get that?! - as she moves upward to capture Daphne’s mouth in another kiss. “Look at you,” she coos, her voice so familiar and soothing. “All wet and ready for me.” 

Daphne is not actually a hundred percent certain she can come again - cheers, Lou - until Rose works the head of the toy between her folds and slides in, slow and gentle. It fills her, splits her open, in a different way than Lou’s fingers did, but a good different. She doesn’t thrust so much as ease the toy deeper inside Daphne, then rocks her hips minutely so she hits Daphne’s sweet spot. The whole universe seems to be narrowing down onto that one point where they’re joined. Daphne’s beyond any coherent speech, not even sure where she’s putting her hands - just wants more, _needs_ more. Needs to clench around Rose’s cock and just _come_ - 

she’s this close from tipping over the edge when Rose stops, slowly pulls out, leaving Daphne feeling empty. She keens, gasping for it, _begging._ The whines and pleas slip past her lips unbidden, and she can’t _stop,_ until she hears someone whisper right in her ear - _shh, shh, it’s okay, we’re here, we’re gonna make you feel good._

It calms her a little, but not entirely - not until someone slides their fingers into her mouth and lets her suck on them, something to occupy her. Someone else buries their face between her thighs and licks between her folds, up against her clit, and Daphne trembles, sighs. It’s not the same as being fucked by Rose but it’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.

“Okay?” The whisperer asks, and Daphne manages to nod. She removes her fingers from Daphne’s mouth and Daphne’s vision clears a little for her to see Tammy, hovering over her and looking a tad concerned. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she says, low and pacifying. “Amita’s going to make you come. Give you what you need.” 

Daphne’s tongue feels thick and heavy in her mouth, her brain cotton-wool but also going off like a firework. She needs, she _needs_ \- isn’t sure what exactly but she just desperately does. Tammy - bless her heart - strokes her hair back and carefully straddles her face so Daphne can put her mouth on her. Daphne hasn’t eaten a girl out in so damn long - _way_ too long - but it’s like muscle memory. Tammy cries out softly, fists clenched against the pillows, grinding down rough on Daphne’s face, and it feels so fucking good. It’s frantic, fervid, and Daphne thinks she could do this with all of them - eat them all out, lick them open until her jaw fucking quits. Taste all of them on her tongue. 

Amita makes her come, violently, for the second time that night - doesn’t take long, what with Rose already working her to the edge. She moves away with a gentle stroke of Daphne’s calf, giving her space to focus on Tammy and cool down. 

She gets another glimpse of the room again when Tammy finally orgasms and shakily brings her leg over so she can collapse on the bed beside Daphne. Rose still has her harness on, fucking it into Lou, who’s holding on to the desk with Constance’s legs propped on her shoulders. Amita makes a move over to join them, pressing her mouth to Constance’s, tracing her thumb down the valley between her breasts. It’s a fucking sight. 

“Enjoying the show?” Daphne hears, and arches her neck a little to see Nine Ball standing over her, grinning. She manages to grin back, dazed and a bit stupid. “Who do you wish you were?”

Daphne would be happy as hell to be any of them, to be fairly honest, but her gaze keeps lingering on Constance. Her entire lower body seems to be buzzing and she’s almost aching, thinks it might actually _hurt_ if she was touched now, but she likes the look of Amita’s fingers on Constance’s breasts. Nine Ball follows her gaze and smirks. “You like that, Daph?” 

“Mm-hm,” Daphne manages to slur out, and is rewarded by Nine Ball getting onto the bed beside her, lowering her head. She doesn’t break eye contact with Daphne, just circles one peaked nipple with her tongue. Daphne pants, one hand coming up to her other breast to caress - and finds herself interrupted by someone’s hand swatting gently at her own. “Let me.” Oh, it’s Debbie - god, yes, Debbie who dips her head to mirror Nine Ball’s movements. Both their hands roam against Daphne’s bare skin, and from beside her, Daphne hears Tammy’s moan, looks over to see Debbie’s free hand sliding between Tammy’s thighs, all while she’s still got her mouth on Daphne’s tits. Jesus _fuck,_ Daphne knows for sure she’s soaked again, dripping with how much she wants it. All it takes is for Debbie to make Tammy come, to hear her cry, and then to feel Debbie’s slick fingers pushing into Daphne’s sex. The orgasm this time is almost painful, like it’s being dragged out of her on a hook, but it’s also the most intense shot of pleasure she’s ever felt and she thinks she could literally die now and die utterly happy. 

There’s movement from the other side of the room - Rose, Constance, Amita and Lou returning from the desk to join them on Debbie’s massive bed. Sprawling onto it in various contortions, skin slick-sticky with sweat, curled up, tangled with, pressed against one another. Debbie opens her arms and Lou falls right into them, wrapping long legs around her waist. Constance prods Tammy in the knee, then just drops on her lap when Tammy grumbles and doesn’t move. The air is heady and thick with the scent of sex and the sheets are a mess. It’s like a puppy pile and Daphne doesn’t think she ever wants to be anywhere else in the world. 

There’s some nudging, adjusting, squirming until everyone finds a comfortable position. Daphne ends up with her head pillowed against Rose’s chest, Amita curled up against her back and Nine Ball’s cheek against her thigh. The room swells with breathy sounds, soft noises, everyone just getting themselves and each other off slow and sleepy, gradually drifting off to sleep in the safe, comforting embraces of their teammates. Their family. 

“Am I one of the team now?” Daphne asks drowsily, to Debbie’s soft, humming laughter. She feels someone’s fingers carding through her damp hair, a gentle rhythm, soothing her into sleep. “Oh, Daphne,” she says, the last thing Daphne hears before she drops off. “You always were.” 

**Author's Note:**

> leave a kudos & comment if you enjoyed this work!


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